Funny Thing, Magic
by Graphed Vulgarity
Summary: Everybody comments on Harry Potter's eyes. Why? It's not because they look like his mother's. Super Harry, Good Dumbledore. AU. Rated for violence, sex, swearing,etc.
1. Prologue

**Note: This is an AU story, and an attempt to explore the structure of magic in the Harry Potter world. I always wondered why magic had to be done with a wand, and what prevented someone from not using one. I'm also curious as to what exactly magic is. Is it a force? An entity? A virus? Or are they like the mutants from the X-Men universe? For the record, Harry will be powerful. It's the point of the story. Because of that, I can't imagine this will be very long. I don't have it in me to write an epic retelling of all seven years, anyway. The pairing is open, but it won't really pick up 'til fourth year. Gives me time to come with whom to pair him with. If you have thoughts as to who, please; do tell. In my defense, I don't care. Let's see...anything else? Nothing comes to mind. **

**Hang on, everybody. **

**We're going for a ride.**

* * *

_We could not understand because we were too far, and could not remember because we were traveling in a night of first ages, of those ages that are gone, leaving hardly a sign- and no memories. We are accustomed to looking on the shackled form of a conquered monster, but there- there you could look at a thing monstrous and free. _

_Joseph Conrad. "Heart of Darkness"_

* * *

"My God. Albus! Look at this!"

"What is it, Minerva?"

"His eyes. Look at his eyes."

"My word. How extraordinary."

"Do you know what this is?"

"No, I do not. Not even a suspicion."

"Do you think it has to do with the..."

"Scar? No. The only thing that scar will do is make him famous."

"Must we leave him here? I've been watching him all day. They're the worst sort of muggles. They really are-"

"The only family he has. Fear not for young Harry's safety. I've written a letter."

"A letter? Do you really think all of-of _this _can be explained in a letter?"

"Of course not. It's why I intend to return tomorrow after my meeting with the Minister and explain to them the importance of the task ahead of them."

"Thank you, Albus. I must confess to being worried they might...mistreat him."

"..."

"Albus?"

"Do you really think so little of me?"

"I-"

"I have been accused, not without cause, of not seeing the trees for the forest, Minerva, but _never _would I allow harm to come to a child."

"I...Forgive me, Albus."

"There is nothing to forgive, my dear. Your concern for young Harry only confirms what I already knew: you are a good woman, Minerva McGonagall. Now, let us be about our task and away from here. I find that, as old as I am, being awake this long is more a trial than it once was."

"Of course."

* * *

Three people strode down Magnolia Crescent, a road of a suburb in Surrey. Technically, two people strode. The third was carried. Cookie cutter houses stretched until the intersection at the end of the block, where a different variety took over and branched out to the left and right. It was a completely ordinary piece of England, quiet in the early morning. In fact, the ordinary nature of the place made the oddity of two of the three people stand out even more.

One was a man. To call him old would be to call the ocean wet; true, yet not nearly enough. Age had lined every inch of exposed skin, frown lines and laugh lines present in equal measure. Yet for his age he moved like a man in his fifties, and electric blue eyes twinkled with amusement, intelligence and curiosity. He wore robes of a dark blue color and a pointed hat. As he turned his head from side to side the point would sway gently. His name was Albus Dumbledore. He had a variety of middle names, but never bothered with them.

The woman, Minerva McGonagall, was an austere woman in tartan robes. Her hair was gray and up in a tight bun. She seemed the sort of woman to whom frowning came naturally. At the moment her attention was turned to the bundle of blankets in her arms. There was no trace of a frown on her face. Instead an expression of tenderness softened the hard lines of her mouth and brow.

The focus of her soft look slumbered peacefully in her arms. A beautiful little boy, not yet two. He had a shock of black hair that promised to be unruly at best and wildly untamable at worst. Above his left eye was an angry red scar, shaped like a lightning bolt. The outer edges of it were already starting to fade. Despite the odd nature of the scar, this was not the young boy's most remarkable feature. No, that was his eyes. They were a pale shade of gold and had looked around with a bright curiosity rare in one year old boy. His name was Harry Potter. Though he didn't know, and wouldn't for some time, he had just become the most famous person in the world.

The trio approached a house identical to its neighbors in every way save one. It was almost meticulously clean. The stucco walls had been power-washed to a dull sheen. The driveway was free of oil or gas stains. The car parked in front was clean and polished. The windows were clear and free of any residue. The polished brass number 4 on the door and mailbox gleamed in the dull orange glow of the streetlights.

"Ah, here we are." Albus Dumbledore stopped out front and regarded the house with a bemused eye. Minerva stopped beside him and fussed with Harry's blankets. "Well, we know he won't suffer for hygiene."

The stern woman stopped what she was doing and turned to regard her companion with a raised eyebrow. In answer Albus gestured broadly at the house. "Look at this house, my dear. It is almost perfectly clean. I doubt Molly Weasley could do better with a bevy of spells and a free weekend." he clapped his hands together. "Now, let's be about our business here."

They went up to the door and Minerva knelt, gently placing Harry on the stoop. Albus produced an envelope from an inside pocket and placed it next to the blankets. On it, in bold, capital letters, was written; **READ ME** **IMMEDIATELY**. He knelt and placed a wrinkled hand on Harry's head, brushing the soft hair on the baby's head.

"Until tomorrow, Harry." The old man swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and stood. Minerva came up next to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"He'll be fine, Albus."

"I know, Minerva. I can't help but worry. Come, it's late, we're tired, and there's much to do."

With two pops, they disappeared, leaving a sleeping Harry on the stoop of number 4, Privet Drive. Around him the air shimmered, and if someone were to stick their hand in the air near him, they would find it warm and soothing. It was October, after all, and Harry was only a baby. The charm would keep him warm and sleeping until the door was opened.

* * *

Petunia Dursley was a woman of strict habits. Every morning at six she would wake and sneak quietly out of bed, avoid waking her husband, and go down to the kitchen to enjoy a cup of tea before the day truly started. She went to the door to see if the milkman had come yet, and her scream of surprise woke everyone in the house. Her cup fell and shattered, spilling tea all over her pristine floor. "Vernon!" she screamed. "Vernon!" her hands flew to her chest when she saw the black hair on the baby's head. The last time she'd seen that hair... "My God." her face drained of all color and her heart stopped. "James."

Her screams woke the baby, who decided that since everyone else was yelling, he might as well join in. Instinct kicked in and Petunia picked him up and cradled him, rocking back and forth and cooing softly to him. Feet thundered on the stairs and she turned to see her husband come rocketing into the kitchen with a baseball bat in hand.

"Petunia!" he shouted. "What is it? What's wrong?" he skidded to a halt when he saw the baby she was holding. She couldn't blame him in the least. "Petunia?" She shook her head.

"He has James' hair." she said quietly. Vernon blanched.

"Why is he here?"

She shook her head again. " I don't know. Lily said they had to go into hiding. That was the last I heard from her."

Vernon set the bat down and came over, touching her arm. "She's fine, Pet." She knew her husband. She knew when he was lying. He peered past her and frowned at the open door. "What's that?"

"What's what?" she turned. He moved her aside and went to the stoop, bent, and picked something up.

"It's a letter. Says 'read me immediately.'". He held it out to her. "I think you should."

Juggling the baby, she took the letter from Vernon. She felt the thickness of it, remembered the last time she'd felt paper like this. It was a long, long time ago. This was a letter from Lily's people. Bitter jealousy, years old, reared its head. The baby in her arms babbled and patted her face with his tiny hands. She crushed it ruthlessly. This little boy was not Lily. Even if he was, it wouldn't matter. Family was family. "Can you take him?" she asked.

Vernon took the boy in his arms. "Look at his eyes." he muttered as she opened the letter."I've never seen anything like them. What's your name, little man? Where'd you get eyes like that, huh?"

Petunia sat heavily, hand going to her mouth. The letter lay on the kitchen table. Her eyes welled with tears. "Harry," she said hoarsely. "His name is Harry."

"Pet?" she burst into tears. Vernon picked up the letter and read.

_My dearest Petunia,_

_It seems I am fated to forever deliver bad tidings to you. I'm unsure how much Lily told you, but some time last year, for reasons unknown to us, she became the target of an evil man, a man calling himself Voldemort. He terrorized our world for years. Everyone who fought him, everyone who stood their ground died. _

_You knew Lily. You knew how brave she was. She could never allow this to continue if there was something she could do about it. She and James fought him. With everything that they had, they fought him. They were the bravest people I have ever had the good fortune to meet. _

_Last night Voldemort found Lily and her family. I don't know how, I don't know why, but he found them. The only survivor of that conflict is in your arms right now. Somehow, Harry was able to do something grown wizards could not. He lived. Voldemort is gone. Whether it is forever or for the moment, I do not know. I do know that because of what he has done, Harry will be famous in our world. Imagine it, Petunia. Famous before he could walk or talk, before he ever knew his name! _

_You're sitting there; grieving, upset, and confused. You are in all probability very angry with me. How could I do this? How could I leave you with a child and a letter and hope that all would be well? I can't. I won't. Sometime within the next few hours of your opening this letter I will come and answer any questions you might have. You are not alone in this. You never will be. _

_You may hate me. You may blame me for what happened to your sister. You have every right to. Whatever your feelings towards me may be, I must beg you: raise Harry. Love him. He has no one else in the world. Just you. He needs you. _

_I'm so sorry. _

_Sincerely, _

_Albus Dumbledore. _

"She's dead." Petunia whispered, brokenly. "She's dead, she's dead. Oh, Lily, why?" she rocked back and forth and sobbed into her hands. Vernon stood there with a dead woman's child in his arms and watched his wife's heart break. Harry picked up on the emotion swirling around the room and started crying. Nothing Vernon did would calm him, it wasn't until Petunia mastered her tears and gave a watery smile to Harry that the boy quieted. Harry reached for her, talking soft nonsense, and she took him from her husband.

Vernon fidgeted, folding the letter along the creases one way, then the other. His mind spun. There were too many questions, too many things he didn't know. He knew his wife. She'd tell him. Eventually. In the meantime, there were things to be done. Dudley's old cot had to be dug out of the attic. The spare bedroom would have to be cleaned out. Adoption papers, social security, vaccines, doctor's appointments. His family was not poor, and he spent wisely, but this would stretch them thin.

He was drawn from his thoughts by a soft, "Vernon?" He looked up and saw Petunia looking at him with a fierce determination in her eyes.

"Pet?" he asked.

"We're taking him in." she said, and her tone brooked no arguments. Even if he'd had any, he wouldn't have voiced them. There were parts of his character that he knew were unpleasant. He had a temper. He was overly fond of food. He tended to put too much emphasis on wealth. But never, not _ever_, would he be called cruel.

He had only one thing to say. "Welcome to the family, Harry." He reached over and tousled the boy's soft, wild black hair. Harry laughed and batted at Vernon's big, scarred hands. He couldn't help but smile in return.

* * *

"Mum? Dad?" a shorter, blonder version of Vernon came into the kitchen in pajamas designed to look like army fatigues. He rubbed sleep from his eyes. "What's going on? Why's everyone yelling?" he saw the baby in his mother's arms. "Who's that?"

Vernon pushed out the free chair with his foot. There were so many things he would rather do than explain this to his son. It had to be done, though. "Sit down, son." he said, softly. Harry watched with bright golden eyes from Petunia's arms. "We've got a lot to talk about."

Dudley took the news as well as a three year old could. As far as he cared, he had a brother to play and fight with as he grew up. The hows and whys of it never entered the little boy's mind. The novelty of his new brother wore thin when the baby fell asleep in his mum's arms.

He yawned again. Commotion over, he decided it was much too early to be awake. Dudley toddled back upstairs to his room, crawled back into his still-warm bed, and fell asleep.

* * *

Vernon sighed. "He seemed to handle it okay." Petunia snorted and shifted Harry to a more comfortable position in her arms. He stirred and turned his face into her chest.

"He's three," she said flatly. "It'll take some time for it to sink in. Hell, I've got him in my arms and _I'm _having difficulty accepting this. Hopefully when Albus comes he can make things clearer."

Vernon's brows furrowed as something occurred to him. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Do you think this lunatic-what's the name? Voldemort?- will come after Harry again?"he didn't say it, but Petunia picked up on his question.

"The letter made it seem like he was dead, but with that world..." she trailed off and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Anything's possible. I hope not."

He smiled. "Another question to ask, I suppose. It's a good thing he didn't think the letter alone would explain everything."

"He's not an idiot, Vernon. Odd, yes, but not stupid."

* * *

It was a subdued Petunia Dursley that answered the door when Albus Dumbledore knocked some four hours later. She looked as tired as he felt. The sleep he'd sought after leaving Harry hadn't come. His meeting with Minister Fudge hadn't gone well. While ecstatic that Voldemort was done, he was insistent that Harry be placed with a "proper" family. That meant pureblood, and that simply wasn't happening. Albus had said as much. Fudge wasn't thrilled, and blustered legal action to get what he wanted.

That avenue hadn't worked, either. The benefit of holding as many positions as he did, he was essentially unassailable. Albus was very, very aware of the dangers of holding as much power as he did and second guessed himself as often as possible. The result of the meeting was no sleep, a headache, an annoyed Minister for Magic _and _Headmaster of Hogwarts, and no ground gained by either side.

Very frustrating. The end result of the fruitless meeting was that he'd had to go straight from the Ministry to the Dursley's house. Now, on no sleep, he had to explain to a woman why he needed her to change the course of her family's life. If nothing else, it promised to be an interesting conversation.

He sighed and hesitated at the door. He was not looking forward to this. No point in delaying any longer. He knocked twice and waited with clasped wrists for someone to answer the door. The door swung open and a tired, red-eyed Petunia Dursley answered. He felt his heart wrench at the sight. He'd done that. He smiled gently at her. "Ah, Mrs. Dursley. May I come in? I fear I'm not dressed for inconspicuousness at present."

"Please do," she said, voice hoarse but calm. "but keep it down, we've just gotten Harry down again."

"He's alright?" He stepped in and looked around the clean, almost austere kitchen. Pictures of Petunia, her husband and her son adorned various surfaces. It was his dearest hope that they'd show Harry the same love they clearly showered on their own son.

"Fine," she waved a distracted hand. "Better than fine, he seems perfectly healthy, in fact."

"Good, good. I trust you read my letter?"

"We did." a new voice, a man's voice said. Albus turned to see a thick, powerful looking man enter the room. Despite his size, he moved well, suggesting training. Perhaps a boxer. The hands made it likely. He smiled at who had to be Vernon, and received a nod in return. "It raised more questions than answers, though."

Albus nodded. "I expected as much. Please, this may take some time, and I'm not as young as I once was. May I sit?"

"What? Oh, of course!" Petunia waved him into a seat, which he sank into gratefully.

"Now," he said, once everyone was seated. "Where to begin? There is far more to this story than can be told in a single sitting, so I shall focus our tale on the events leading up to the night before, where your sister gave her life for her son. It started in the early sixties, with a brilliant, young student named Tom Riddle..."

Albus told them everything he knew. It was near three in the afternoon when he began, and close to seven when he finally finished. The entire time, the Dursley's sat, spellbound. Only Dudley or Harry could draw their attention away from his tale. Once he was done they sat blinking at him, disbelief and shock warring on their faces, with a rising current of fear. He didn't blame them in the least.

Vernon swallowed heavily. "So, he's gone, then? This Voldywart fellow? Dead and gone?"

"Yes, but as Petunia has no doubt told you, that doesn't carry the same...permanency it does in your world."

"You keep talking about _your _world and _our _world as if they're two different things, Mr. Dumbledore." Vernon said, frowning. "I don't care for the implication."

Albus raised an eyebrow. "Which implication would that be, Mr. Dursley?"

"That your world is somehow superior to ours."

"Ah. I see. I apologize if I have given you that impression, it is the furthest from the truth. Wizards and witches are still very much human. Many of us choose to live like you. We simply have some abilities that most do not, is all. I like to think of us as...what is the term? Ah, yes, a minority group. Like the Belgians. I do so enjoy Belgium."

Vernon blinked. "...Right. Belgium aside, that makes sense. Harry is definitely a... wizard?"

"Yes, and this is something I must warn you about. If you do take him in, and I suspect you have, if the glare your lovely wife is leveling on me is any indication, then you should be on the lookout for bursts of accidental magic."

Petunia lessened her glare and asked. "What would that be, exactly?"

"When a wizard or a witch is very young, their magic is still, for lack of a better word, setting itself in their bodies. It can lead to flare ups. Nothing major, maybe a light going on or off, a sweet being summoned from the top cabinet. If he's upset with you your hair might turn blue or vanish for an hour. I've set a ward on the property that will tell me if any significant bursts of magic occur. I'll be by to sort out whatever damage Harry accidentally inflicts."

Vernon still looked like he was having difficulty accepting that there were a group of people that could do something he himself couldn't. "I suppose I should thank you for that," he said after a while. "Though... it's a lot to handle, Mr. Dumbledore, and I want to say thank you for coming and answering our questions. I'm curious though: is there a way we can reach you, if we have any more?"

Albus thought for a moment. "Ordinarily, I would suggest owl post-" both Vernon and Petunia flinched. "however, as that's not exactly inconspicuous, I have an alternative, if I may."

"Please."

He removed his wand from an inside pocket. Vernon leaned slightly away, a look of alarm on his face, while his wife did the exact opposite. Her look of near hunger spoke of a long unresolved longing. He still remembered her letter.

With a curious looping motion and he conjured a small ceramic dish the color of puce.

"What's that?" Vernon gestured at the dish.

"This, Mr. Dursley, is how we will communicate. If there is anything you need from me, any questions you might ask, simply touch this tray and say my name. It functions similarly to your...telephones? Is that the word?"

"Yes." Petunia waved him on impatiently.

"Right, thank you. So, I have this dish's twin in my office. When you activate yours, mine will chime, and we will be able to converse through it."

Vernon frowned. "Why not just..." he waved a hand at Albus' wand. "magic a set of telephones."

Albus smiled. "Because magic and electricity do not cooperate in the slightest. As I understand it there are people in the Department of Mysteries working to resolve the issue, but the last I heard, there's been no headway made. Now, if there's nothing else, I must be leaving. I've taken up too much of your time already."

He rose and shook the couple's hands, hopes much higher than they'd been a day ago. His heart still keened in grief over the losses of James and Lily, but now, seeing the acceptance of the Dursleys, he had a glimmer of hope for young Harry's future. He left their house and let the relief he'd been feeling show. There were many things he still had to do, talking and answering their questions had taken up an enormous amount of time, but today marked a first in recent years: Albus Dumbledore let himself be just a little bit selfish.

He apparated to Hogwarts, went to his quarters, and fell asleep.

* * *

Petunia began to suspect that Harry wasn't entirely normal, even for wizards, when he was six. Up until then his bursts of accidental magic were small. He levitated Dudley's model airplane across the room several times. Once Vernon's mustache turned from its normal brown to a kaleidoscope of colors. Odd, but not destructive.

Not until that night. Not until Halloween.

She woke up when the door to her bedroom rattled. "Dudley?" she said, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Dudders? Harry?". The room shook, and she shrieked, falling back onto her husband, who jerked awake.

"Whazza? What's going on?" he asked, helping her off of him. Then the entire house started shaking. Pictures fell off walls, windows rattled in their panes. An almighty crash came from the kitchen as the plates and bowls fell out of their respective cabinets.

"Mummy!"

The shout had her surging to her feet and staggering across the shaking floor, Vernon hot on her heels. "I'll get Harry!" he shouted, "Get Dudley!" he hauled open the door to Harry's bedroom and darted inside.

What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks.

His adopted son was floating. Along with everything else in the room. The little twin bed, complete with motorcycle sheets, was a foot and a half off the ground. Toys and stuffed animals orbited around a small ball of light floating six inches above the bed. It took him a second to connect the ball of light with Harry. "Harry!" he yelled, dodging toys as he neared his son's bed. "Harry, stop!"

Nothing.

Harry yelled, "Don't hurt her!"

Every window in the house exploded.

Vernon was thrown to the ground, followed shortly by toys, Harry's bed, then finally, gently landing in a ball on the sheets, Harry. The little boy had his eyes screwed tightly closed his arms clamped around his legs. His lips moved, but Vernon couldn't hear anything.

He could read his son's lips, though, and what the boy was muttering, over and over, was "Don't hurt her, don't hurt her, don't hurt her, don't hurt her."

Vernon understood in a flash. He remembered what Dumbledore had said about how Harry's birth parents had died. His heart broke for the boy, again, as he realized what he had been dreaming. He crawled across the destroyed room and gathered the terrified child in his arms, holding him close. "Don't worry, son," he whispered, and kissed the top of Harry's head. "She's safe, they can't hurt her. Wake up, Harry. It's time to wake up. Come on, son, wake up."

With a jerk, Harry woke. He looked around wildly, eyes the color of amber, before settling on his dad. "Daddy? Did mum ever have red hair?"

Vernon held Harry closer. "No, son. She didn't."

"Oh." his eyes welled with tears. "I had a nightmare. There was a monster with red eyes and he was hurting this lady and she had red hair and I wanted him to stop but I couldn't move and I was so scared, dad!" he turned his face into his dad's night shirt and started to cry.

That was how Petunia and Dudley found them, seconds later. Nobody told Harry that what he'd dreamed was a nightmare. Dudley didn't because the sight of his little brother so torn up about something made everything else not matter, and his parents didn't because it would be a lie. They didn't want to lie to their son, nor did they think the truth would help. So they held their silence.

It was the hardest thing Petunia had ever done.

* * *

Albus appeared outside the house moments later. None of the damage Harry had caused was permanent, and easily fixed with a few repairing charms. What was more difficult to explain was why the incident had occurred at all. He'd paled when Vernon told him about the contents of Harry's dream. It sounded like a memory of how his mother had died.

It was impossible, plain and simple. Then again, it was supposed to be impossible that a boy of six have enough power to shake an entire house and shatter every window in the building. Yet, Albus had just spent the last hour undoing the damage caused by that exact thing happening. With reassurances to the Dursleys that yes, Harry was fine. No, it wasn't normal for magic to be like that. Of course he'd look into why.

He left them sitting in their living room, Harry curled in Vernon's arms, fast asleep. Petunia and Dudley were talking quietly on the sofa, her answering the anxious boy's questions about his brother.

One other remarkable thing he'd seen that night. The complete absence of Harry's scar. If he'd have looked closer, he'd have seen that all that remained was a thin, white, outline of what it once was. But he didn't. He was old, it was late, and he had bigger things on his mind.

* * *

The years passed, and Harry grew from a bright eyed boy into a young man. He was thin, it seemed that no matter how much food his mum gave him he stayed thin. She fretted about his weight, but he seemed happy and healthy, so she kept it to herself. She watched his face shed the baby fat of youth, turning into the perfect cheekbones and aquiline nose that looked so achingly like Lily. His hair, though, that riot of black that refused to be tamed, that was all James.

The one thing that refused to explained was his eyes. They were remarkable, beautiful even. But they weren't normal. Not even close. She could remember meeting a man once with violet eyes, but that was the extent of it. Her son's eyes were gold. Bright gold, and they practically shone with intelligence.

At the moment, however, she was more than a little annoyed with the boy. She rapped on his door again. "Up! Get up, Harry!"

"I'm up, mum!" his muffled voice came back. "I can't find my jumper!"

She sighed, rested her forehead on his door, and counted to three. Slowly. "Did you check under your bed? Or your hamper?"

There was a long pause. "Coming, mum!"

A thunder of young footsteps. Petunia lifted her head away just moments before the door was wrenched open and an eleven year old-in two weeks- Harry grinned sheepishly at her, tugging his jumper, Darth Vader's head looming on the front, down around his middle. "Well? Are you ready now? It's only your brother's birthday, I'm sure he can wait if you can't find your trainers."

Harry's grin vanished. He dashed back into his room.

"Trainers? Seriously? _Harry_."

Dudley was, understandably she thought, a bit miffed about the delay in getting to the zoo. It wouldn't be as bad as if Harry had suddenly developed this habit, but that wasn't the case. No, he'd been losing things since he had things to lose. Toys, clothes, food. Himself on a few heart-stopping occasions, one of which she still had nightmares about. But she wasn't going to think about that, she told herself, herding her sons through the bustling front gates of the zoo. She was thankful they'd directed their energy elsewhere; the pair of them had bickered the entire ride there and she was seriously considering feeding one or both of them to a lion.

Still, she couldn't help but smile at the wide eyed wonder the pair of them wore on their faces. The four of them meandered through the zoo, her or Vernon being dragged by the hand towards an exhibit Dudley or Harry thought was particularly interesting.

She so regretted that Lily wasn't here to see her son grow up.

* * *

Then again, maybe there were merits to being dead.

For instance, she wouldn't have to try and explain to an eleven year old why they shouldn't take a _boa constrictor_ home with them. Even if it promised not to eat anyone. The fact that Harry could talk to snakes didn't surprise her. She chalked it up to being a wizard, pinched her nose, and tried again. "Because, first, I and your father say no. Secondly, it belongs in the zoo. Barring that, Brazil. It's too cold for it here."

"But muuum! I could make it warmer. You know, with my...thing."

"I don't understand why you won't call it magic, Harry."

She hoped that changing the subject would get her easily distracted son to focus on something else long enough for him to forget about adopting an eight foot snake.

Harry sighed in a weary manner. "Because it just seems silly when I call it that. 'Sides, from what you and Mr. Dumbledore tell me, what I can do isn't exactly magic anyways. Talking of which, has he figured it out yet?"

Petunia breathed a sigh of relief. He'd forgotten. They'd dodged the rock, and were now charging headlong towards the hard place. She looked to her husband for support. He grinned at her and shrugged, turning his attention to the road. "No, he hasn't. He says he's close, but he wanted to make absolutely sure before telling us. He told me he was going to talk to some experts before coming by in a week or so."

"Oh." she looked in the rearview mirror. Harry had turned to watch the cars. Dudley had fallen asleep next to him. "That's okay. I don't mind not knowing. Do you think my real mom knew?"

She ignored how her heart wrenched at the word 'real'. She knew he didn't mean anything by it. "I don't think so, Harry. Lily was a brilliant, brilliant woman, but you...you're unique. A class of your own."

"Cool."

Silence descended. Petunia wrangled with her emotions, Vernon with the traffic. Harry made a ball of dull amber light and tossed it between his hands. Dudley slept onwards. As they made the turn off the motorway, he started to snore.

* * *

"I've got him."

Vernon carried Dudley into the house and up the stairs to his room. Petunia nudged Harry into the kitchen and started to make a snack for him. There was still an ache in her chest, caused by the absence of her sister. Years had passed, and she had done her grieving, but there would always be a part of her that missed her sister. From time to time she was reminded of that. "Would you check the mail, Harry? It'll be ready in a minute."

"Sure, mum." she heard him whistle idly as he went to the door. The whistling stopped. "Hello, then. What's this? Mr. H. Potter? The Second Bedroom? Oh. Mum! It's here!"

"What is?" she asked, coming into the hallway. Harry had dropped most of the mail onto the hallway table. What he hadn't dropped was a letter made from a familiar material. A wax seal held the envelope closed and Harry's name was written in bottle green ink.

"It's my Hogwarts letter." he looked up at her, eyes shining with delight. "I'm going to school!"

Petunia Dursley smiled.

* * *

_END PROLOGUE_

**So, what'd you think? Good? Bad? So amazing you had to read it twice? For the love of God, don't keep it to yourself. Tell me, tell me, tell me!**


	2. The Immortality Stone

**Note: Wow! Reviews! People are reading this! It's a warm, fuzzy feeling, reading those things. With that in mind, keep it up. This chapter, and probably the one after it, will cover Harry's first year at Hogwarts. I've been really surprised at the...well, surprise from my portrayal of the Dursleys. In response to that, Let me say this: no one who puts as much time, sweat, and tears as parents do into raising their children would _ever _hurt them. Those who do are wrong. Just wrong. **

**Enough of my proselytizing. **

**Allons-y!**

_CHAPTER ONE: THE IMMORTALITY STONE_

* * *

Wizards.

Madmen, the lot of them.

Harry, holding tightly to his mum's hand, had come to this opinion after spending the morning wandering around Diagon Alley. It was the only place on earth where you could find a place that sold toad's eyes and racing broomsticks with equal seriousness. Where a woman named Malkin could sell clothes-robes, for God's sake, _robes_- and nobody batted an eye. It was a packed, lively, insane place.

He loved it.

In that moment, Harry's refusal to call his gift magic died a quiet and unnoticed death.

There was too much to see. It was nearly impossible, he'd have to spend days here to see it all, and oh how he wanted to. If it weren't for the fact that his mum was on a shopping mission the likes of which never before seen by man, he'd try and see just what lay down the twisting roads that splintered from the main one occasionally.

The letter, which had been fantastically uninformative, had also included a list of supplies that he was required to have. Books and clothes were, as he figured for a boarding school, fairly standard. When the list deviated into cauldrons and robes, delivering warnings about having owls as pets; that's when things got weird.

Anyways, the minute Harry saw the list, he knew he was in for it. If there was one thing Petunia liked making, it was lists. She was very, very organized. He wasn't, and it drove her batty. He tried, he really did, but his attention span just wasn't long enough to keep track of much of anything.

"What's next, Harry?" the object of his thoughts asked. She held her bag in a tight grip and looked around with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Because of this combination he was losing feeling in his right hand.

"I can't feel my hand, mum," he said idly, digging the list out of his pocket with his free hand and looking it over. Her grip on his hand loosened and he sighed quietly in relief as blood flow was restored.

"Sorry, dear." she gave him a sheepish smile.

Harry waved it away. "It's okay. Let's see, next is...oh, a wand! Hmm, where do you get those around here?"

Petunia pointed with their joined hands. "There, maybe?"

He looked. A darkly painted, squat, dirty windowed old shop stood in front of them. It carried an aura of age around it. He could practically smell the magic coming from the place. The feeling of it, tingling across his skin, made his eyes go wide. Then he saw the sign hanging over the door and laughed. _Ollivander's_, it said, _makers and purveyors of fine wands since 342 B.C._

"Huh," he said."how 'bout that?"

His mother's laughter carried them into the shop.

* * *

Petunia was worried. Harry was quiet. This was not normal for him, ordinarily he'd be chattering away at her about everything they'd seen and done in the Alley. She actually wanted to talk about it, never having been there before, only hearing about it from Lily. After a few minutes of silence she couldn't take it anymore.

"Harry?" she asked, sneaking a peek at him in the mirror. He looked up at her with a troubled expression. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, mum," he started, then shook his head. "No, it's not." he trailed off. She waited, seeing him gathering his thoughts. She didn't have to wait long. "Was it just me, or did everyone there not see me?"

"How do you mean?" she asked, though she suspected she knew where he was coming from. He needed to say it, though.

"It's just- how many people told me I looked like James? How many people said that I was sure to be brilliant, just like my parents? They didn't see _me_, mum. They just saw the me they wanted to see. I didn't like it."

There were moments, like this one, where Petunia had to forcibly remind herself exactly what Harry's age was. He was so perceptive sometimes, seeing things a man twice his age would sometimes miss. And it wasn't like he was wrong, she'd noticed it to. She'd seen disappointment on the face of that woman who'd sold them Harry's robes when he didn't have Lily's eyes. For his sake she hoped that those were the exception, not the rule. "I didn't either. No one would, in your position. I'm sorry it hurt you."

Harry shook his head. "That didn't hurt. It was annoying, but it didn't bother me as much as that old man-Ollivander?- just casually bringing up how he made it possible for my parents to die. He just talked about the worst thing to happen to me like it was no big deal. I thought wizards were cool, mum, and Diagon Alley is. I don't know if I like wizards, though."

"They aren't good with first impressions, are they?" she commiserated. "I won't say I understand how you feel, I said long ago you were unique and I meant it, but I'm here for you, Harry. I always will be."

Harry smiled at her, his first since before they'd entered the wand shop. She couldn't help but smile in return. Her son had a beautiful smile, wide and happy and completely infectious. "Thanks, mum." he said quietly, and looked out the window at passing cars for the rest of the trip home.

Petunia turned her thoughts to two weeks ahead, when Harry would leave for Hogwarts. She was worried and excited and proud, and also curious as to how she could be feeling all of those things at once. She kept her concerns to late at night, over cups of tea with her understanding husband. She was worried how the other children would treat him, how they would react to his eyes and his power. Her son was unique, and she loved it about him, but it also scared her a little. It wasn't a giant leap to see it would scare others, too.

* * *

Time, it seemed to Harry, had never passed so slowly. Two weeks _dragged _by. Each day seemed like it took three to end. He'd rarely been so excited in his life. It was this, and Christmas Day. It was that level of exciting, there was nothing else he could compare it to.

Finally, after two interminable weeks, the day came; September 1st. He'd gone to bed the night before fairly vibrating with energy, and had tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning imagining what it would be like at Hogwarts. He had wild fantasies of casting spells from the backs of dragons, of rescuing princesses from foul monsters with fire and ice. When he fell asleep, he dreamed of himself, only he wasn't the same. He was old, and had a massive beard and staff. He pored over old books and mumbled to himself.

As dreams went it was fairly boring, but it was what Harry imagined being a wizard would be like.

Despite having fallen asleep only four hours before, he was up at five and bouncing around the house, stopping only around seven when he remembered that he hadn't actually packed yet. He swore, instinctively looked around for Petunia, sighed in relief, then dashed back to his room and shut the door behind him.

He drew his magic to him, pooling it into his hands. Faint streamers of gold light swirled around his fingers, and more light leaked through his eyes. A small tendril reached from him to his desk, where he'd put his wand. He pictured in his mind what he wanted his magic to do, opened glowing eyes, and whispered, "_Pack_."

Harry grinned at the result, panting a little at the drain. His trunk rose into the air, lid open. Books, papers, quills, shoes, they all flew into the air and sorted themselves neatly into the trunk. After that came socks, paired and folded, followed by shorts, pants, shirts, and robes. The trunk's lid closed with a snap and lowered itself gently to the floor. Then he reached for his magic again and sent it towards his wand. His desk drawer opened and it flew through the air. He caught and pocketed it.

Harry had decided that everything had gone swimmingly, until he realized he was still in his pajamas. He groaned. Now he had to dig back _through _his neatly packed trunk and find clothes.

"Oh, joy." he mumbled, before proceeding to do just that.

* * *

Platform Nine and Three Quarters, after he'd found it, did little to dissuade him of the opinion that wizards were mad. For a society as bent on secrecy as they appeared to be, having a great honking red train in the middle of King's Cross wasn't very stealthy. So, that was the downside.

The upside; a great honking red train.

It wasn't that Harry loved trains. He was an eleven year old boy, and machines of any sort fascinated him. Anything really, but motorcycles in particular. He'd never found the courage to admit his fascination came from a dream he'd had about a flying motorcycle. His family didn't mind his magic, but they weren't exactly thrilled about it, either.

So, as a happy result of having woken up early and pestering his parents into taking him to the station ahead of schedule, he had an entire hour to wander around the train. The sign on the engine proclaimed it to be the Hogwarts Express. His parents followed him as he wandered from car to car, helping him claim one of the ones near the back after deciding that it was the biggest.

People started showing up around nine thirty, and Harry shoved his parents out of the train to get the goodbyes over with not long after. He was anxious to be off, and yet when he was standing there on the platform about to say goodbye, he couldn't say it. His throat closed every time he tried, and his parents enveloping him in a two way hug didn't help. In fact, to his shame, his eyes welled with tears. He sniffled into the nearest shirt, which turned out to be Vernon's.

"Now, now, Harry." he said gently, patting him on the head. "It's not like it's forever, after all. We'll see you at Christmas, sooner if we can swing a visit. Your mum's been working on that with Professor Dumbledore."

"Really?" Harry looked up through traitorously leaking eyes and saw Petunia giving him a wide, if watery, smile. She nodded, and he smiled happily. "That's great. Promise you'll write either way?"

Vernon placed a solemn hand over his heart. "Hand to God. Tonight if you like."

He hesitated, torn between wanting to appear older and wanting to keep in contact with home. He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and shook his head. "Nah, not tonight. Maybe this weekend? That way I'll be able to write back about what's going on at school."

"Sounds like a plan." Petunia's voice sounded thick, and she hugged Harry tightly before letting him go and pushing him back. "Now go on, before I change my mind and take you home."

Harry sniffed again, hugged them both, and jumped on to the train, making his way to the very last compartment. He closed the door behind him, flopped down onto the couch, and threw his arm over his eyes. It took a lot more effort than he'd thought not to go launch himself back into his parent's arms. He didn't trust himself not to, so he didn't move until the train chugged out from the station. Only then did he sit up and look around.

He swore.

He'd forgotten Hedwig.

* * *

Harry was still swearing when the door to his compartment slid open and a boy with a round, shining face poked his head in. For whatever reason, Harry liked him immediately. It could have been the openness in his brown eyes, or the way his cloak was fastened under his left ear. Maybe it was the easy grin. "Hey," he said. "You mind if I join you?" he spoke clearly, but his face was shy.

"Not at all." Harry waved him in. The round faced boy struggled into the compartment, lugging a trunk with one hand, the other clutching tightly at a squirming, desperate to escape toad. He watched in fascination as the toad made bid after bid for freedom. Law of averages said the thing would eventually succeed. Sure enough, after its owner had finagled his trunk into an overhead storage space the toad wriggled free and leaped for the door.

Harry waved a hand, amber eyes alight. "_Close._"The door slammed closed. The toad hit the glass and slid down it to land in a dejected heap on the floor. He smiled. Using magic sent pleasant tingles up and down his spine, like when Petunia or Vernon tickled him, only somehow different.

The soft "Wow." made his attention shift rather quickly. His companion was looking at him with wide, excited eyes. Harry grimaced.

"So, there's no chance I can make you not ask me to explain?"

The other boy shook his head. "Nope."

"Fine." Harry grumbled. "It's like this: I can do magic without a wand. I don't know why, or how, but I can. No one else does either. Professor Dumbledore said he had an idea, but _then _he said it was a dead end, so we're up a creek about the whole thing. Yes, my eyes are gold. Again, no, I don't know why. Any questions?"

"Just one."

"Shoot."

"What's your name?" the round faced boy held out his hand and smiled. "I'm Neville."

"Harry." Harry shook Neville's hand. Callouses, strong grip. Dirty fingernails. He'd had the same from helping Petunia battle her garden into submission every summer.

"Nice to meet you."

"Same."

After that the conversation died for a bit. Harry cast around for something to talk about, and finally just up and asked, "Why haven't you said anything?"

Neville blinked. "About what?"

"About this." he tapped a finger to his forehead. More specifically, his faded scar. Neville leaned forward, eyes narrowed. They widened soon after.

"God's wounds." Neville breathed. "You're Harry Potter! I didn't even notice!"

"Well, that's a relief. I was beginning to worry that someone wouldn't recognize me." Harry said acidly. To his credit, Neville blushed and stammered an apology, which Harry waved away. "'S fine. I'm getting used to it. It's just kind of annoying, being seen as a thing instead of me. I'm the Boy Who Lived, or whatever, not Harry. You know what I mean?"

Neville had gone very quiet, and somewhat pale. He shook his head. "N-no. I don't." Though the way he said it made Harry suspect he knew _exactly _what Harry meant, and didn't like it any more than he did.

So he changed the subject. "Soo...what house d'you reckon you'll be in?"

Neville brightened, and the conversation proceeded apace. They argued the merits of various houses; Hufflepuff against Ravenclaw, Gryffindor against Slytherin, before deciding that they weren't really bothered about where they ended up, so long as their roommates didn't fart in their sleep or snore.

* * *

They were still laughing at the idea of someone doing both of those things when the compartment door opened again, this time admitting a girl. One who seemed to be made almost entirely of hair.

At least, that was Harry's first impression.

It was wild. Untamed. The Serengeti of hair. Brown, bushy, straining the ponytail she had it in. She had a pretty face, warm brown eyes rather like Neville's, and ink stains on her fingers. She also had perfect posture and unnaturally clean teeth. She looked, Harry decided, eminently interesting. "Excuse me," she said. "but do either of you mind if I sit with you? It's only that people are acting _very _childish, running up and down the halls and yelling and the like."

Harry grinned at her and said, "I don't mind. Do you, Neville?" Neville turned bright red and stammered that no, he didn't mind, and the interesting girl joined their compartment. She sat primly near the door on Neville's bench, Harry having taken up the other one when he decided to lay down and prop his head on his hands.

"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl was saying. "you're obviously Neville, but I'm afraid I don't know who you...are..." she trailed off and frowned for a moment, looking repeatedly at Harry's forehead.

Harry, for his part, sighed. "Yes, I'm Harry Potter. Go on, get it out of your system."

Hermione looked offended. "Get what out of my system? I was simply going to say that it was very nice to meet you and thank you for letting me stay with you."

"Oh. Sorry." she waved him away, and it was only then that he realized how annoying that was. Harry resolved to not do that ever again. "Let's start over, shall we?" he sat up and offered his hand and a wide smile. "I'm Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She smiled back at him, and he decided he liked it when she smiled. "Hermione. Likewise, Harry."

After the initial awkwardness of a new member joining the conversation, the three of them entered into an easy discussion of what subject they were looking forward to most. Neville surprising no one, picked Herbology. "I'm just good with plants." he said, shrugging.

Harry, for his part, was torn between Charms and Transfiguration. Both of them looked, from the brief peek through his books that he'd done, extremely interesting. Plus, one of them taught you how to turn stuff into other stuff, and that was cool.

If Harry had any lingering doubts about Hermione's status as a bookworm supreme, they were dispelled when she informed them that not only had she read all of their course books for the entire year, but also that she'd memorized-_memorized_- two of them. It was both awe inspiring and a little bit scary, and he wasted no time informing her so.

To his surprise, she turned a bright shade of red and mumbled something about it "probably not being enough."

"What?" Neville looked bewildered. "You've read all the books and committed two of them to memory, and you're still worried about it? Hermione, I realize that we've only known you for like, what, an hour? But still, you gotta relax about this. My gran told me that we put on a hat to get sorted, that's all."

"Really?" Harry sat forward. "What sort of hat?"

"A talking hat." Neville replied, as if that were a common, everyday thing.

"You mean they actually have those? Huh, and just when I thought things couldn't get any weirder- _oh, come on!_" The compartment door opened yet again and there stood three unpleasant looking people. Unpleasant was putting it lightly. They looked like bullies, and the middle one looked like he'd never even heard of the sun. He looked down his nose at Harry, Neville, and Hermione. " Now what do you guys want?" Harry asked.

* * *

What they wanted, it turned out, was an argument. One started in fine style by the vampire looking one in the middle saying, "They're saying Harry Potter is on the train, and that he's in this compartment. Is it true?"

"You mean you don't know?" Harry asked, confused. "I thought everyone knew what he looked like." out of the corner of his eyes he saw Neville looking bewildered and Hermione watching with a raised brow. To his surprise, the pale blonde only nodded.

"So, he is. Right..." he pointed at Hermione. "Not you," at Neville, "You're a Longbottom," then finally at Harry. "Which means that you are Harry Potter. Not only that, you are rude."

"Rude? Me?" Harry asked. "I blow smoke about who I am because _everyone _has been trying to see me since I showed up, and I'm rude for wanting to avoid that?"

"No," the boy countered. "you were rude because you failed to answer my question appropriately."

"Well, how was he supposed to answer?" Hermione asked. The blonde boy ignored her, and focused on Harry.

"Terribly rude of you." He informed Harry.

"So's ignoring someone." Harry retorted. "And you're doing a fine job of that."

"Who? I'm talking to you, and Longbottom's not said anything."

"What about her?" Neville demanded, pointing at Hermione.

The boy started, then waved an airy hand. "I don't speak to Mudbloods. So, Potter, I see you've received a somewhat adequate introduction to the right sort of person. Allow me to further that," he stuck out his hand. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Harry pieced together a number of things in a few seconds. First, judging from the way Neville squeaked and turned pale at the mention of the word Mudblood, it was _not _nice word. Second, this Draco Malfoy was unbelievably arrogant.

Finally, and most importantly, Harry did not like Draco Malfoy. It was the sort of instantaneous thing that made him decide Neville was so likeable. He just knew from looking at him that he wouldn't be any good.

Harry remained seated, in fact he laid back down on the bench, ignoring Draco's offered hand. "You know," he said conversationally. "the right sort of person tends to knock before entering a room that's occupied. The right sort of person thinks for themselves instead of regurgitating their parents' opinions. The right sort of person doesn't insult a person's friends. So thanks, Draco Malfoy, but I already know who the right sort of person is. You aren't it. Goodbye."

Draco flushed, which looked odd on his pale skin, and stammered angrily for a few seconds before snarling, "You'll regret this, _Potter_!" and storming out, followed by the two who hadn't spoken.

Silence fell for a few moments, before Neville swore.

"Language!" Hermione scolded. Neville ignored her.

"Harry, do you have any idea who that _was_?"

Harry shrugged. "A ponce?"

"Well, yes, but that's not what I mean. He's a Malfoy." Neville said, as if that explained everything.

"And..."

Neville looked at him like he was mad. "Harry, their entire family served You-Know-Who back when he was in power. There's not a single member that didn't go dark, not one! They're dangerous. My gran said to watch out for them."

Harry had gone very still at the mention of You-Know-Who. "You mean they worked with Voldemort?"

Neville nodded.

"Then why," Harry continued, much too calmly. "are they not _in prison_?"

"Money. Malfoy's dad bribed the Minister, got away Scot free."

"Money." Harry growled, and didn't say another word for the rest of the trip. After several attempts at drawing him out, Neville and Hermione gave up. She dug a book out of her trunk and started to read, and Neville watched the countryside pass.

Outwardly, Harry appeared calm. Inside, though, he _seethed _with anger. He hated Voldemort for taking his birth parents from him. Yes, he had a loving family in the Dursleys, but they weren't _his_.

Voldemort had taken that from him. He had taken his family.

Harry didn't notice, and his companions weren't paying attention, but his eyes were glowing, and wisps of light were escaping from behind his closed lids.

* * *

So, he was a Gryffindor. Neville had been right, all he'd had to do was wear a hat. They'd had an interesting conversation, then he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, the house of the courageous and brave. However, none of that had occurred before a ride across a lake, an interminable wait in a crowded room, and listening to the hat sing.

Harry shuddered. Hats weren't meant to sing. It was a pity no one had told the Sorting Hat.

He was immensely pleased when he found out he was in the same house as Neville and Hermione. They weren't close enough for him to consider them friends, but he knew and liked them, which was more than he could say for most anyone else. His roommates were all asleep, and snoring horrendously in one case, but he was still wound up from everything that had happened.

Luckily, Hogwarts in the night was gorgeous. Massive towers, imposing walls, lit windows like fairy lights in the woods. The cool moonlight painted the whole castle silver. Harry lay in his bed and watched the castle until he fell asleep. Tomorrow classes started, and he couldn't wait to see what they offered.

* * *

To Petunia Dursley, a week had never passed so slowly. All throughout the week, once the sun had set, she found herself going to the window every so often to see if Harry had written ahead of when he'd said he would. Even though he didn't show it, Vernon was just as anxious for news as she was, pausing in whatever activity he was doing every time she went to the window. The wait was driving her batty.

Friday evening rolled around, and she finally got her letter. A barn owl of some size winged its way to the sitting room window and tapped its beak on the glass. She rushed to let it in, offering it a bit of the sandwich she'd halfheartedly been nibbling on. Trading the letter for the sandwich, the owl took off, and Petunia hastily unrolled the scroll, smiling when she saw her son's messy handwriting.

_Hey mum, _

_School's been pretty good. No, before you get in a tizzy, it's not the classes that are bothering me. Well, not only the classes. I like everything but Potions, and the only reason I don't like that is because of the teacher. He hates me, mum, and I don't know why. He's this skinny man with black hair and eyes and I was wondering if you knew him, cuz maybe you could make him back off. _

_Anyway, enough moping. Hogwarts is gorgeous. Seriously, it looks like it was built to be on a calendar. It's got spires and towers, which aren't the same thing, I learned. It's got huge battlements and a great big lawn and a huge lake. There's a forest that we aren't supposed to go into, so naturally everyone's been in there at least once. _

_Oh, hey, before I forget: I talked with Professor Dumbledore about my eyes and my magic. Remember that lead he said he was tracking down? Well, it was a bust. Guy was a fraud, or something. So we can go back to knowing bupkiss about what I can do._

_I gotta go do homework now. You know they assign essays on length, right? I have to write six inches on the benefits of Earwigs. I don't know what Earwigs _are. _Which is why they assign the homework. I'm onto their games now, Mum. _

_I love it here, but I miss you and dad and even Dudley, though don't tell him. I'll write again next week. Supposedly we have flying lessons on Wednesday, though how or on what I don't know. _

_Bye, _

_Harry. _

Petunia put down the letter, putting aside everything else but the one thing she recognized off the bat. Severus. It had been years, but she never forgot his black eyes. She went to the puce colored dish in the kitchen and touched it. "Albus, it's Petunia," she said. "We need to talk about Severus."

The dish sighed before Albus' voice came through. "Yes, I thought so. It seems he is less forgiving than I had hoped."

* * *

Flying lessons had been an unmitigated disaster. It was as if God had looked down and decided that Harry's Wednesday needed to be messed with, and had done everything in His considerable power to make that happen. For starters, it was with Slytherin. That in itself was bad enough, but Malfoy, who had decided he had it in for Harry, had decided to make a scene before Harry had shown up.

Then Neville happened.

Harry genuinely liked Neville. The round faced boy was kind, friendly, and clever. He was not, however, graceful. He tended to trip over his own feet, or fall into a trick door and get stuck, or bump into a particularly rude suit of armor and get chased down the hall. This minor fault displayed itself to full effect in their flying lesson.

Which was why Neville ended up with a broken wrist, Harry with detention, and Malfoy with two broken legs.

Now, however, Harry was standing outside the Headmaster's office with his arm in the death grip of Professor McGonagall. The stern woman was practically seething with anger, though at whom Harry couldn't guess. Him, probably. Malfoy a little. Probably not Neville. But mostly him.

The gargoyle swiveled aside and he was frog-marched up the stairs and into Professor Dumbledore's office. After a moment's glance the general impression was similar to Dumbledore himself. First opinion was that of a amiable, somewhat strange old man. But dig a little deeper and you find a incredibly keen mind and razor sharp wit. His office was a reflection of that.

The man himself sat behind a claw footed desk covered in paperwork. He had his half-moon glasses perched on his nose and was mouthing his way through a long scroll. He looked up at the sound of Professor McGonagall dragging Harry into the office. "Ah, Mister Potter. Please, have a seat."

Harry sat, not that he was given a choice in the matter. Professor McGonagall led him to a seat and shoved him down into it, nodded to Dumbledore, and left. "I'm sorry, sir." Harry said, when he could no longer bear the silence.

"For what, my boy?"

"I didn't mean to hurt Malfoy like that, I just wanted him to give Neville his photograph back."

Professor Dumbledore frowned. "Photograph? Do you know of what?"

He fidgeted. "Yes, sir. But I don't know if you know about Neville's er...situation."

"If you mean that he lives with grandmother, yes, I am aware. Your loyalty is commendable, but unnecessary. So, young Mister Malfoy stole Mister Longbottom's belonging and then, what?"

"He took off on his broom and said he was going to leave it in the forest, sir."

"And what did you do?"

Harry mumbled something, looking down.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter, my ears aren't what they were. Would you mind speaking up?"

"I said, 'I blew up his broom', sir."

There was a long silence, during which Harry fidgeted and Dumbledore leaned back in his seat. In this period of time Harry became aware of a large, red bird perched on a bookcase behind the desk. It was watching him, and sorting its feathers every so often.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke. "I assume you used this ah, ability of yours to do this."

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Luckily, young Mister Malfoy has no lasting injuries other than his pride which, admittedly, is rather substantial. I take it that there were witnesses to your using your power?"

"Yes, there were, but I don't think they knew it was me, sir. They were all watching Malfoy."

"All of them? Are you sure?"

"No, sir."

"I see. I expect you will be facing some uncomfortable questions in the next few days. How you answer them is, of course, entirely up to you, though if I could make a recommendation: accidental magic doesn't really stop until about sixteen."

Harry, glad for seeming to escape punishment, took the dismissal and the advice with a nod and hurried out of the office. His heart sank once he reached the bottom of the stairs. It looked like he wouldn't be escaping punishment after all.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for him, and she did not look happy.

* * *

Tonight was the night his punishment was to take place. The wrath of McGonagall had hit Harry, and hit him hard. She'd given him detention, which was bad enough, but when she told him what he was doing, and with who, it got worse.

He was going into the Forest with Hagrid. Why or for what, he didn't know. All he knew was, he was probably going to be eaten.

Then, to make matters better, McGonagall had taken fifty points.

So, Harry's mood was, to say the least, foul. He didn't want to talk to anyone and, save Neville or Hermione. It was fine with him, he didn't want to talk to them, either. To that end, he'd claimed the couch nearest the fire and kept an eye on the clock. He had about an hour before he had to go.

"You'll be okay," Hermione said suddenly. "Hagrid's the groundskeeper. He must know the forest. And he likes you. He won't get you hurt."

"Yeah, but Hermione, Hagrid's enormous. What hurts for him and what hurts for Harry are two different things and I'm not helping so I'll stuff it."

That brought a smile to Harry's face. "Thanks, Nev." he smiled. "You're probably right, Hermione, but still...I don't like it."

Hermione frowned. "But, Harry, you broke the rules."

"No, I know that. I broke the rules, this is the consequence. What I don't like is how Malfoy looks at the end of all this."

"How?" Neville asked. It was Hermione who answered.

"Like a victim. People will forget _why _he got hurt, only that he did. Christ, he'll be insufferable now."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "He wasn't before?"

Neville burst into laughter, and Harry's black mood was broken. The quarter of an hour he had left he spent talking quietly with his friends. So he was feeling somewhat content when he made his way to the entry hall to meet Professor McGonagall. The glare she hit him with deflated that somewhat. They proceeded in silence to Hagrid's hut.

* * *

Hagrid himself looked kitted out for hunting. A giant vest with a variety of tools dangling off it, crossbow in hand, quiver on his belt. In the lamplight of his house, he looked primeval and imposing. The massive boarhound sitting next to him completed the image of a hunter.

"Here he is, Hagrid." McGonagall said.

"Thanks, Professor. Alright there, Harry?"

"Fine, thanks." Harry replied on instinct.

Before she left, McGonagall said, "I'll return for him at dawn, Hagrid. He's yours until then."

"Right," Hagrid said after she'd left. The sound he made when his hands clapped together reminded Harry of a sonic boom or clap of thunder. "Well, you're here. I'm not pleased about that, let me tell you, but that's done and done, and there's no point fussing about it." he produced a vial of some silvery liquid from his vest and handed it to Harry. It was slightly warm to the touch.

"What is this?" Harry asked.

"That, Harry, is unicorn blood. Something out there's killing them, and we're going to find out what. Ready?"

He wasn't, but there was no point in saying so. "Yeah, let's go."

With the attitude of a man walking to face the firing squad, Harry followed Hagrid and his hound into the forest.

Harry had been to a few forests before. Once, when he was little, Vernon had taken them all camping in the Forest of Dean. He'd liked it much better than the forest he was in now. The Forest of Dean had clearings and fens and streams and he could see the sky when he looked up. When he was there he'd felt at peace, like he was finding an old toy he'd once taken comfort from.

The Forbidden Forest was nothing like that. The trees were mossy and twisted and so overgrown he could only see leaves when he looked up. The ground was covered in dead leaves, stones, and twisted roots. It smelled like old socks and the only source of light was Hagrid's sputtering lamp. It was, overall, a very oppressive place.

Harry was old enough to admit it was scaring the pants off him. Each time he stepped on a fallen branch he jumped, the crack of dead wood breaking sounding unnaturally loud in the unending silence. Neither he nor Hagrid spoke. Even the dog stuck to his master's side and kept his tail tucked under his legs.

It had been ten minutes before Harry saw a flash of..._something_ out of the corner of his eye. He whipped around, fumbling his wand out of his robes and pointing it into the trees. His eyes strained to see in the diminishing light cast by Hagrid's lamp. Had he actually seen something, or was the forest playing tricks on him?

There!

He spun, again following a flash of movement in his periphery. Again, all he saw was trees. "Hagrid, do you see anything?" He whispered. There was no reply. Fingers of worry starting creeping up into his gut. "Hagrid?"

Silence.

Harry's free hand clenched and unclenched, and his heart rose into his throat. He kept his wand up and ready and turned, looking desperately for the dim orange light that would tell him that Hagrid was fine, that they'd only gotten separated for a moment. There was only darkness.

"Hagrid!" he shouted. His voice echoed dully back to him. "Hagrid!"

No reply. He swallowed thickly and tried to calm down. He told himself that he was safe, that Hogwarts was _right there_, and there was no way something dangerous would get so close to so many powerful wizards and witches. It worked enough for him to remember what he could do. He pulled power into his hand and whispered, "_Light_."

A ball of golden light sprang into being above his open palm. He frowned in concentration for a moment and it rose to hover two feet above his shoulder. The light it cast was cleaner and brighter than Hagrid's lamp.

Harry picked a direction and started moving. He looked around for any sign of Hagrid, whispering his name and trying desperately to remember what his dog was called. He could only see about five feet in front of him, and it was all he could do to not trip over a gnarled root.

A tree limb snapped off to his left, and he whipped his head towards the sound. It was then that he tripped over something that was much larger and softer than a tree root. It also groaned softly when Harry landed on it. His wand flew off into the dark. "Hagrid!" he scrambled to his knees and gasped.

The big man was a mess. His face was a map of bruises and open cuts. Both of his eyes had impressive black eyes blooming. His crossbow was a twisted, broken mess behind them, and the dog was nowhere to be seen. "Hagrid!" Harry hissed. "Hagrid, are you all right?"

Hagrid groaned in reply. A sound, unlike anything he had ever heard before, made him shoot to his feet and stare into the impenetrable dark. He heard it again, off to his left, then from behind him, then to his right. It was with cold dread that he realized it was circling him.

Harry breathed deeply and swiftly through his nose. If he opened his mouth he was sure to throw up. His stomach was a gnarled mess and his heart pounded in his throat. He heard the sound again, directly behind him, and his heart stopped.

Slowly, he turned.

What he saw would have made him scream, if only he could move.

It was Death. Tattered black robes swirled in a nonexistent wind. The hood was drawn up over its head. Gnarled, blackened arms ending in clawed fingers at its sides. The sound he'd been hearing was coming from underneath its hood. Rasping and harsh. It was breathing.

Harry stared, and it stared right back.

Then it moved.

Faster than a heartbeat, faster than Harry could blink, it was across the distance between them and slamming into him. Harry's feet left the ground and he flew backwards, slamming into a tree trunk. His body punched a dent into the mossy bark. He heard his ribs break, and every breath became an agony.

Death floated above him, staring without eyes down at him.

Harry was suddenly very tired. He looked wearily up at the cloaked figure and just wanted it to _go away_. Didn't it see he was tired? He was about to go to sleep and this thing was keeping him up.

Even though his thoughts were scattered, he pulled ropes of power into his eyes. He closed them tightly and felt the pressure building behind them. He pulled and pulled and pulled until he was sure that his eyes would explode from keeping the power contained.

When his entire body was shaking and he'd vomited from the strain, he opened his eyes.

A second sun bloomed in the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

_END CHAPTER 1_

**Note: I know, I know. This chapter was longer than I'd expected. First Ollivander wanted to be odd all over the place, which I didn't allow. Then Neville and Hermione wanted to build character with Harry and fight with Malfoy. I let that happen. So...yeah. It got away from me a bit. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure this doesn't suck. **

**Agree, disagree, either way, let me know. **


	3. The Immortality Stone, II

**Note: The astute observer will note that with the posting of this chapter, I have decided on a pairing. A grand total of two reviewers gave their suggestions, and I've considered both of them. That being said, I don't want Katie, Daphne, or Susan. So instead, Harry is going to be with the believer of impossible things and general oddball: Luna. Like I said in the Prologue, though, that won't pick up until fourth year, though it starts sooner. **

**Enough of my rambling. **

**Vamanos!**

_CHAPTER TWO: THE IMMORTALITY STONE, Cont'd_

* * *

Harry woke to the familiar sensation of Petunia's fingers carding through his hair. He then registered that it was the only good thing he was feeling. Everything else hurt. Everything. His legs, his arms, his hands, his head, his ribs, and especially his eyes. Even his ears hurt, and he hadn't done anything to them. He hoped. And because each word felt like a railroad spike driven into his sinuses, he was decidedly aware of the muttered conversation carrying on around him.

"How could this have happened?"

"Now, now, Minerva. You had no way of knowing what would happen. You mustn't blame yourself."

"Then who should she blame, Albus? From where I'm sitting she looks pretty guilty."

"So would you if you'd caused _that _to happen to one of your students!"

"He's not my student, he's my son! I put him into your care and two weeks later I get a call- a call...do you have any idea how much that scared me? Having that stupid little dish tell me my son is in the hospital?"

Muffled sobs filled the air, and the fingers in Harry's hair ceased moving through it and went down to trace his cheek. It tickled, but did little against the ache of giant bruise his body had become.

"I think I should leave," the voice he identified as Professor McGonagall said.

"No," said Dumbledore's voice. "you should stay. Unless I'm mistaken, young Mister Potter has finally woken up, and you will want to reassure yourself he is alright."

Harry opened his eyes, wished he hadn't, then closed them again. "Ow." he mumbled.

"Harry?" Petunia sniffled. "Sweetie, how are you feeling?"

Harry groaned. "Like I was hit by a lorry."

The noise Petunia made was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Oh, God, I'm so glad you're okay!" Familiar arms wrapped around him and held him close. He felt his mum's chest shake while she cried in relief. He patted her arm-the only place he could reach-and tried to reassure her that he was okay.

"Mum, I'm...well, I'm not okay, but I'll live. I promise. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Petunia sniffled again and released him. "Oh, I know, sweetie, but you scared me so bad."

"I know." and he felt terrible about it, too. "I'm sorry."

She took his hand and rubbed his arm, and he knew he was forgiven.

"Professor!" Harry gasped, suddenly remembering the giant, bruised man. "Hagrid! Is Hagrid okay?"

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Hagrid is fine, Harry. Carried you here, in fact. He's been checking on you about every hour or so." The smile diminished somewhat. "Harry, I'm afraid I have to ask you what happened out there."

"Does he have to now?" Petunia asked, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Surely this can wait until the morning."

"No, mum, it's okay." Harry said. He looked from her worried face, to Professor McGonagall's guilty one, to Dumbledore's concerned expression. "I don't remember everything, but I'll do my best. After we entered the woods, I lost track of Hagrid..."

From start to finish the whole incident couldn't have taken more than an hour. When he was down there scared out of his mind it had seemed like days. He felt a spark of fear when he recounted the cloaked figure that thrown him into the tree. If he closed his eyes he could see its not-face on the back of his lids. He reached the last thing he remembered, drawing more power to him than he had before, and looked at Dumbledore.

The old man knew what the thing out there was. "Professor Dumbledore? Sir? That thing out there...what was it?"

Dumbledore looked old. So incredibly old, with eyes full of regret. "I will answer you, but first I must ask how you drove it away."

Harry swallowed and his eyes throbbed. "I...I don't know why, sir, but I put my magic in my eyes. I put so much I threw up. The last thing I remember is opening them."

"I see. Thank you, Mr. Potter, for telling me. Now, to answer your question, the creature you encountered was a wraith. It is a curious thing, a combination of life and death. A wraith is created when a person possessed by a spirit has their soul overridden."

McGonagall, who had until this point remained silent, spoke. "But who or what could this wraith have been? And what do we plan to do about it?" Petunia looked very intent on the answers to those questions. So was Harry.

"To the first question, I have only a suspicion, which we have spoken at length about before." Here McGonagall turned very pale. "To the second, I have already dispatched notice to the Department of Paranormal Research and Defense. I have been assured of the wraith's destruction within the week. In the meantime, I think perhaps we should keep any and all outdoor activities away from the Forest."

"I agree. I'll make the announcement at dinner tonight. Mr. Potter, I'm glad you're feeling better, and I must apologize for my part in all this."

Harry smiled softly. "It's okay, Professor. It wasn't your fault."

McGonagall nodded, almost smiled, and left the Hospital. Petunia started fussing with his hair again, which he let happen. He was too tired and aching to stop her, and he kind of liked it. The silence that had fallen in McGonagall's leaving had yet to be broken.

Petunia broke it by kissing Harry on the head and wiping under her eyes. "Okay. I've got to go, sweetie. I promised your dad I'd come home after you woke up."

"How long have you been here?"

Dumbledore answered. "You've been asleep and recovering for the better part of two days. I understand your friends are rather desperate for knowledge of your condition. Shall I inform them you are accepting visitors?"

Harry nodded eagerly. Petunia smiled at him, then looked to Dumbledore. "Don't think I've forgotten about our talk, Albus."

"Of course not." the Headmaster bowed his head. "Shall we go to my office? I believe this conversation is better held away from prying ears."

They meant him, he realized, but he didn't care. He had a pretty good idea what they were talking about anyway. What he wanted right then was to see his friends and tell them what had happened. He wanted them to know he was all right.

With another kiss to Harry's forehead Petunia and Dumbledore left the hospital. Their murmured conversation vanished as they went through the massive doubled doors. Neville and Hermione ducked in through the door just before it closed behind the departing adults. He grinned widely at them. There was no way they were going to believe this. He barely did, after all.

* * *

They were very good listeners, asking questions and gasping in all the right places. When Harry got to describing the wraith attacking him, Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Her eyes were shining and she could barely get her words out.

"H-harry, you c-could have been killed!" she stammered. Beside her, a pale Neville nodded in agreement. "I've read about wraiths in Marlowe's _Darkest Hearts and Spirits_, and...they don't generally leave survivors."

Harry frowned. "What are you saying?"

Neville had cottoned on faster than he could and as a result had paled even more. "She's saying that this wraith knew you and, for whatever reason, wants you alive."

There was really nothing to say to that. The knowledge that a wraith wanted you for some purpose wasn't something that happened to Harry. He didn't know how to deal with it, how to react to it, how to respond. He didn't know what to do, so he resolved to do what every boy his age did when confused.

Call their dad.

Unfortunately for Harry, his dad was both non-magical and very uncomfortable with the magic world, so he'd have to settle for the next best thing. He eyed his legs as Hermione speculated with Neville who this wraith could have been. It was a long walk to the Headmaster's office, and he wasn't sure he could do it alone. More importantly, he wasn't sure that Madam Pomfrey would let him. The mediwitch was headed his way with a tub of salve and a determined look.

"Guys," he said, cutting across their argument about Professor Snape being possessed and no one noticing. "do you think you could ask one of the Professors to bring Dumbledore here? We need to tell him about me and the wraith."

"The wraith and I, Harry," Hermione corrected before blushing. "Sorry, reflex. Sure, we'll go find one of them. I think it's lunchtime, so we'll bring some food back for you after we tell them. Okay?"

Harry smiled. "That would be great, thanks."

The two of them left, leaving him alone with Madam Pomfrey and the tub of salve. He eyed it nervously and she scoffed.

"It's only bruise salve, Mr. Potter. I swear, every young man who comes in here looks at me like I'm going to hurt them. I just don't understand it!"

* * *

Hermione came back without Neville but with a plate of food and Professor Dumbledore in tow. She paused for a second at the sight of Harry covered in the bright green bruise salve, but shook her head and set the plate down on the table next to him.

"Ew, that smells." she said, scrunching up her nose.

Harry glared at her. "You know, I didn't notice."

"Sorry."

Dumbledore reached them after a quick talk with Madam Pomfrey. "Ah, bruise salve. I remember it well. I was a beater in my youth, you see, and had the unfortunate tendency to stop bludgers with my torso rather than my bat." he paused for a moment to reminisce. "Anyway, Ms. Granger said you needed to tell me something?"

"Yes, sir." Now that he was here Harry had a hard time believing Dumbledore didn't already know. The old wizard was the smartest man he had ever met. As a result, Harry fidgeted. "Well, you see, sir. We, Hermione, Neville, and me, that is...well, we thought the wraith knew who I was."

Dumbledore's only reaction was to raise a brow. "Oh? What makes you think that?"

"He's still alive, Professor." Hermione said. "And so is Hagrid. I think, and Harry agrees, that the wraith knows who he is and has something planned that it needs him alive for. I don't know what, exactly, but I'd assume some kind of ritual or spell, sir."

Dumbledore peered over the top of his glasses at her for a long moment. "I had reached the same conclusions as well, not minutes ago. You have the most remarkable mind, Ms. Granger."

"Thank you, Professor." Hermione blushed a brilliant scarlet and became very interested in her feet. Dumbledore turned to Harry, who was grinning.

"She's something, isn't she?" He asked, only furthering her blush.

"Indeed. Mr. Potter, about the identity of the wraith..."

"Yes?" Harry sat up as best he could.

Dumbledore sighed. "My original plan was to withhold this information from you." he held up an aged hand to forestall protest. "It would have served no purpose and, powerful as you may become, you are only eleven. However, recent circumstances have forced me to make an announcement to the school about the identity, past and present, of the wraith and its presence here at Hogwarts."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Professor Quirrel has gone missing. He disappeared the night you were attacked. The spirit, well, that I believe I will keep to myself for now."

Harry wanted to argue, but recognized the look on Dumbledore's face. He'd seen it on his mum's often enough. It was the _don't argue with me_ look, and it was ignored at great peril. "Okay, sir. What do we do now?"

Dumbledore stood and smiled at him. "_We _do nothing, Mr. Potter. Your part in this tale is done, and you should leave it that way. Now, is there anything else?"

Harry shook his head. He was both relieved and disappointed at being told to leave it alone. He had only to picture the wraith's bony, taloned hands for his disappointment to vanish.

"Good. I've spoken with Madam Pomfrey, and she says you can leave tomorrow morning. That should give you the entire weekend to catch up on your schoolwork. Or rather, that should give you Sunday night to catch up." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Until tomorrow, Mr. Potter."

"See you, sir." Harry's reply was reflex. The old wizard swept out of the hospital, leaving a just now not-blushing Hermione alone with him. "So, Hermione." he said. "I didn't know you could turn that shade of red. Did you?"

She swatted him and laughed. "Prat." her smile vanished as she sobered. "So, what now?"

Harry hauled the plate onto his lap and picked up the fork. He was halfway through his meat pie before he realized she'd asked him something and swallowed. "Excuse me?"

"I asked you what we would do next."

"Nothing." he replied, perplexed. "Professor Dumbledore said he'd take care of it, and he will. Simple as that."

"But...I thought..."

"No." he pointed the fork at her. "Hermione: No. I've only known you two weeks and I know that look. We aren't digging into this. Period. This thing nearly killed Hagrid, beat the living snot out of me, and is now prowling the Forbidden Forest. All of these things add up to _leave it alone, Harry Potter_."

"I...fine." she pouted, and stole one of his tomatoes. Harry watched her chew thoughtfully, and worried that her puzzle obsessed mind wouldn't let this go.

* * *

Walking was such a chore he decided to give it up as a bad egg and be carried everywhere. Apparently one of the consequences of breaking six of your ribs was the inability to walk unassisted. Luckily, Harry had two crutches he could rely on with regularity. Their names were Neville and Hermione. He'd been released from the hospital that morning and realized that the bruise salve hadn't changed his status as a walking bruise. It had only covered it up.

Very quickly he came to hate Transfiguration and Charms. Both of them involved staircases, and these were Harry's new villains. The classes themselves carried on as if he hadn't been nearly killed by a great evil ghost-man-thing. This was somewhat annoying, but not truly angering.

What was angering was being accosted by Malfoy just outside the Great Hall the second day after his release. He'd been borrowing Hermione to lean on to get to lunch, and their progress had been blocked by the pale boy and his two thugs, whom he'd never bothered to learn the names of.

"So, Potter," Malfoy drawled. Harry groaned.

"Can we not do this now? It's lunchtime, and I'm hungry. I'll come back after and we'll bicker to our heart's content. Sound good? Come on, Hermione."

Together they managed to push through the flabbergasted Slytherins and were _almost_ in the Great Hall when Malfoy piped up again. "Did you scream?"

Harry stopped. He turned very slowly. "What now?"

"When you were attacked," Malfoy said slowly, as if speaking to a dog. "did. You. Scream?"

Harry was hungry. He was tired all the time. His body ached. He was behind on his work and he wasn't getting enough sleep because of it. So, his patience, never very high, was now much shorter. Even so, he may have overreacted.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy." He growled. Hermione was tugging on him, nearly dragging him into the Great Hall. He fought her pull, but it was a losing battle.

"Oh, ho ho!" he laughed, his bookends chortling in unison. "I struck a nerve, there, didn't I? I bet you screamed. I bet it reminded you of losing _her_, of watching _her _die. You were only a baby, but I bet you remember! I bet you can still hear her screams."

Hermione had stopped pulling on Harry and was now gaping open mouthed at Malfoy. Harry had gone stone still. As close as she was, Hermione saw wisps of gold smoke escaping his eyes.

"Malfoy, leave!" she shouted, trying to budge Harry. "Just go away and leave us alone!"

"Oh, I don't think I will, Mudblood. In fact, I-"

The world never found out what Malfoy intended to do. Harry snapped up his hand and snarled, "_Go._"

A blast of golden mist blasted out of his hand, arced across the distance between them, and slammed Malfoy and his two thugs across the Entrance Hall and through the doors of the supply closet.

After that, several things happened at once.

Hermione screamed, "Harry!"

Pain exploded in Harry's eyes.

A familiar Scottish accent shouted, "Mr. Potter!"

Harry doubled over. Then he straightened. Both McGonagall and Hermione gasped. On the edges of his eyes a faint something was scarred into his skin. Since she was closer, Hermione got the best look. They were runes, like nothing she'd ever seen before. They looped in and around each other, the end of one segueing into the next and never breaking the line.

"Harry?" She said nervously. "Are you okay?"

He scrubbed at his eyes. "Yeah, my eyes hurt really bad for a few seconds, but I'm okay now." He blinked the tears from his eyes and saw her and Professor McGonagall staring at him.

"What?"

* * *

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes, feeling the runes under his fingertips. He hadn't noticed them until Professor Dumbledore had conjured a mirror to show him, but now that he'd seen them he couldn't forget them.

He was sitting in Dumbledore's office, a place he'd been far more familiar with that he'd have liked these last few weeks. A few hours ago he'd been brought up here by a speechless Professor McGonagall, who then left to take Malfoy to the hospital, leaving Harry alone with Professor Dumbledore. Again.

It was about Malfoy.

Again.

Harry was beginning to see a pattern, one that he didn't like. Malfoy brought out the worst in him, made him angrier than he'd ever been in his life. No other person on earth, not even Dudley at his worst, could make Harry lose it like Malfoy could. From the instant they'd met he'd known they wouldn't get along, but this was just ridiculous. A sentiment that Dumbledore seemed to share.

"Mr. Potter," he said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "why do I always see you after receiving news of Mr. Malfoy's hospitalization?"

It sounded rhetorical, like the kind Vernon would ask before he got grounded, so Harry kept quiet.

"This," he brandished a piece of parchment. "is a letter from Lucius Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy's father. He's demanding your expulsion and Harry, he can do it."

Harry paled. His mouth refused to open. Dumbledore continued.

"He controls the Board of Governors, who in turn control the school and through it, me. I have been protecting you as best I can, but your continued assaults on his pride are driving him to greater and greater heights. I don't know how much longer I can stall him."

Something struck Harry as odd, then. Dumbledore said, 'on his _pride_' not his son, his pride. Maybe it was the panic. Maybe it was the raw fear of being expelled from the greatest place he'd ever been, but for whatever reason Harry spoke without thinking. "He doesn't care about Malfoy, does he, sir?"

Dumbledore looked both very old and very sad. "That, Mr. Potter, is between Mr. Malfoy and his father. Now, the question of what to do with you is tricky, but not unsolvable. I'm placing you on probation until the end of the year, at which point, behavior depending, you will either return for a second year or return home. I must bid you good day, as I have much to do."

The last image Harry had of Dumbledore before he left the office was that of a tired old man stretched far too thin.

* * *

The days following Harry's fight with Malfoy were some of the most tense he'd ever experienced. Whispers followed him like shadows, and no matter where he went he couldn't seem to escape staring eyes. The mood of the school had fallen, rather predictably, into three camps. The Gryffindors were ecstatic about Malfoy being taken down. The Slytherins were beyond furious for the same reason. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff disapproved of both.

Nobody seemed to realize or care how much Harry hated himself for losing control. How guilty he felt for hurting someone so badly. All they saw was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, beating down the son of Death Eater.

Then October rolled around.

It had only been a month.

Only Hermione and Neville knew how much Harry was bothered by what was going on. They were there to support in any way they could and his friendship with them deepened and solidified into something wonderful. He reckoned that without them, he'd have gone mad.

Tonight his spirits were even lower. It was Halloween, a day doomed to be dark for him for the rest of his life. The promise of candy did little to raise his spirits, though seeing his friends in such a good mood helped somewhat. He let them drag him to the feast by the arms and nibbled on whatever they put on his plate.

He'd even started to smile a little when the door burst open and a bloodied Filch staggered into the Hall, clutching his arm. "Chimaera!" he screamed. "On the third floor corridor! It-" he gasped and collapsed in a heap.

Silence reigned for a good eight seconds.

Then mayhem.

Kids were screaming, food was flung about, people were scrambling in any direction they could think of. Teachers shouted for order, but their voices were lost in the chaos. The students mobbed their way towards the Great Hall doors; pushing, shoving, and jinxing everyone in their way.

Harry grabbed Neville and Hermione and dragged them under the table to hide. The noise was deafening, they couldn't speak to each other, so they huddled close and tried to avoid feet.

A sound like a thousand cannons going off echoed in the Hall.

Silence fell.

Harry tentatively poked his head over the table and saw everyone staring at Dumbledore, who held his wand aloft. In that moment, the old wizard had power and authority wrapped around him like a cloak. "If everyone will please remain calm," he spoke calmly, his voice carrying to every corner. "Prefects, seal the Hall. Teachers will accompany me to the third floor. Poppy, see to Argus. I suspect he was bitten."

Harry, watching the Prefects trying to attain the same authority Dumbledore had just shown, never saw the shadows behind him lengthening. The last thing he heard before his world went black was Hermione's horrified scream.

* * *

When he woke, it was to the sensation of cold stone. His body ached from lying on it. Harry opened his eyes and saw torches guttering on the walls and massive braziers casting dancing shadows on the columns and walls. He looked for a door, a way out, but couldn't find one. His palms started to sweat, and the hairs on the nape of his neck rose. Cold fear crept down his spine.

He was alone.

No, wait.

A sound, a rasping, coughing sound the likes of which he never wanted to hear again.

Slowly, pushing his aching body off the cold floor, Harry stood and turned to face the wraith.

He saw its face and wished he hadn't. It was floating in the center of the room, hood thrown back, facing him with a smile on its sallow, bony face. Then it did something even more terrifying. It spoke.

"_Harry Potter_." Its voice was like burnt silk. "_At long last_."

"Who are you?" Harry's voice cracked. "What do you want from me?"

"_Me? Nothing. My master, on the other hand: he wants to meet you._"

"Who's your master?" though he already knew. In the darkest corner of his mind, he knew.

"_You know him, Harry. You've already met. On this very night, in fact, ten years ago_. _He has waited so long for this day_."

Harry looked wildly around for an exit, a door, anything. He found only blank stone. His heart sank and a terrible sadness filled him. He couldn't escape. He was trapped, alone with the wraith.

A wraith that at least in part Lord Voldemort.

"Wh-why do you need me?" he found himself asking.

The wraith shifted position, floating up and to the left of where it once was. "_He doesn't need _you_, Harry. He needs your blood. Only with that can he truly return_."

Harry's mouth was very dry, and he was having trouble breathing. He couldn't feel his heartbeat anymore, it had long since risen into his throat. He was filled with the terrible certainty that he was about to die.

Faces flashed across his vision. Petunia. Vernon. Dudley. Hermione. Neville. People he loved and people he was coming to love. He would never see them again. His parents were going to wake up tomorrow and smile and laugh and not know that their adopted son was dead, in a cold room in the bowels of a Scottish castle.

Harry found courage in that. In knowing he was going to die, he was free of fear. Calm flooded through his limbs and loosened him up. He felt his magic respond to the call, wrapping unseen ropes around his arms and hands. His eyes glowed and the runes around them lit up from within. The wild rush of magic pounded in his veins.

Harry Potter was free.

"You'll never get my blood." He said with calm certainty.

The wraith laughed. "_Bravery. Commendable. Useless in the face of death, but commendable. Your parents were brave, Harry. They fought my master until the end. Will you be like them? Will you face death unbowed?_"

His gold eyes were hard chunks of burnished amber. "Yes."

It tilted its head. "_So be it_."

The wraith rushed forward, claws outstretched . Harry thrust his hands forwards, screaming wordlessly. The wraith collided with his power feet in front of him. The resulting explosion sent them both flying away and cracked a column in two.

He landed hard and slid across the stone floor, coming to rest against a wall. He heaved himself to his feet and pulled more power to him. He felt a tremble of nausea in his stomach, but there was no time for that. The wraith rushed him again, this time from the left. This time, Harry wasn't fast enough.

It caught him across the chest with a swipe of its taloned hands. Harry screamed and fell to the ground, his gathered power exploding away from him in a shockwave that shook the room.

The wraith paused. "_Power. You possess it, yet you have not earned it. How? How have you this power yet my master does not?_"

Harry's response was a lance of gold light that blew the wraith and a good deal of the nearby wall across the room. He stood, bleeding freely from the chest. His legs shook and he could feel the runes burning their way across his skin. He pulled all the power he could into himself and directed it into his hands. His palms burned.

"_Burn_." He hissed, and swept his hands in an arc in front of him. Gold flames spread to the width of the room and rushed across it. The heat twisted stones and metal sconces melted and ran. The wraith screamed as the flames touched him, sending spikes of agony into Harry's head. He lost concentration and the fires vanished. He clutched at his head and screamed.

"_Join me, Harry_." the wraith hissed. Harry, through his haze of pain, felt a vicious satisfaction at that. "_With power such as yours, think of the wonders we will accomplish. We can bring your parents back to life!_"

The idea was tempting. So very tempting. If only to see his parent's faces for the first time. Then he imagined Petunia's face when she found out what he'd done. He could easily see it. Same with Neville, and Hermione, and Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall. They would never forgive him.

"No!" Harry yelled, and threw everything he had at the walls of the chamber. The entire room shook again, and stones fell to shatter on the floor. A shard cut him across the leg and it buckled beneath him. He summoned more power and threw it at the columns. The ceiling started to collapse.

"_Fool boy!_" the wraith howled. "_What are you doing? You'll kill us both!_"

Harry grinned through bloodied teeth and summoned more power. It burned his veins, the runes tracking their way towards his ears and down his cheeks. "That's...the...idea." he hissed through the pain, and threw it again. Then he did it again.

The wraith screamed.

The ceiling collapsed.

Harry had time for one last draw.

"_Protect_." he said, and blacked out.

The last thing he saw was stones impacting against a shimmering gold shield.

* * *

Once again Harry was drawn from unconsciousness by a murmured conversation, and once again it was between Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"He's only a boy, Albus. To have that much power...it boggles the mind. Do you think he will ever wake up?"

"Only time will tell, but I have great faith in Mr. Potter's strength of mind. If anyone can rebound from this, he can."

"I want to believe you, but...that room, Albus. The damage he did! The entire southern tower collapsed on that shield and _it held_! I..I can't fathom it."

"Neither can I, and I've been seeing hints of it for a month. Have you seen Petunia today?"

"I have." A long, pregnant pause. "She looks tired, Albus."

"I can only imagine what she must be going through."

_Open your eyes, Harry. _

_Come on, you can do it._

_Listen to me son. Open. Your damn. Eyes._

It was the last of these, the stern voice of Vernon in his head, that made him fight his eyes into opening. He blinked, the sunlight harsh, and looked around. Dumbledore and McGonagall were in two armchairs at the foot of his bed, conversing in low voices. That had stopped at the first sign of movement from him.

"Mr. Potter? Harry? Are you back with us?" Dumbledore stood and went to Harry's side. He nodded, throat too dry to speak. "God above, you gave us quite a fright. Are you thirsty?"

Harry nodded again.

"I'll fetch some water, Albus, and Poppy. She'll want to look him over now that he's awake."

Harry swallowed again and tried to speak. "How-how..."

"How long?"

He nodded.

"You've been asleep for two weeks, Mr. Potter."

Harry's mind boggled. Two weeks? His first thought was that his mum was going to kill him for missing so much class. His second thought was of his mum. He swallowed and tried again. "M...m-mum..."

"Your mother is here, Mr. Potter. She's been very worried about you. In fact, she's taken up residence here to watch over you. I'm sure she'll be ecstatic that you're awake."

Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Petunia stormed into the hospital in unison. Petunia had taken over water retrieval from the Scottish witch, who was in turn being quizzed by the mediwitch about everything Harry had done since waking. They made, to his recently in use ears, a rather large amount of noise. It wasn't pleasant.

Using some motherly instinct, Petunia picked up on this and shushed the other two women before bringing him the water. Using her free arm she lifted him into a somewhat upright position and held the goblet to his lips. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

"Harry? Sweetie?" she said, tears welling in her eyes. Why did he always make his mum cry? "How are you feeling?"

His voice was still rough, but much better than before. "Stiff. Sore. Thirsty." his stomach yowled. "Hungry."

A relieved laugh was had by all.

"I'll get you some food after I've done a diagnostic, Mr. Potter." Madam Pomfrey said before taking out her wand to do just that. He felt the magic flow over him, like he was taking a shower in a wetsuit. She frowned at her wand. "Hm...you seem to be all right. In fact, I'd say that apart from your scars you're in perfect health."

Harry mustered the energy to ask, "Scars?"

He felt Petunia's arms tightened around him and sagged into her grasp. What had happened was starting to catch up with him. He had scars. He was going to walk away with a memorial of his battle. He wasn't expecting to walk away at all. Professor McGonagall transfigured one of his pillows into a mirror for him.

His face made his jaw drop. The runes around his eyes had spread, both out and down. They covered the entirety of the skin around his eyes, reaching back to his temples, and down to the top of his cheekbones.

Then she moved the mirror down.

He had three long, thin scars across his chest. There was a wide, shiny scar on his calf. He was missing a toe. He didn't know what to expect, but...it wasn't this. This was too much, just too much for him to handle.

Harry cried in his mum's arms. Cried hard and long. She held him tight and rubbed his back until he cried himself to sleep. For some reason, even though he'd been asleep for two weeks, he was bone tired and sank gratefully into slumber.

* * *

It took Harry until mid-November to walk without a cane. His body ached every night until the end of December. His eyes hurt until January.

The nightmares hadn't stopped yet.

He thanked God every day for Neville, Hermione,and the rest of Gryffindor. They formed a shield around him and didn't let anyone bother him. If he wanted to talk, they'd talk. If he wanted to be alone, they let him be. If he wanted to cry and scream and yell, they stood and waited until he was done, then hugged him tight. His actions may have saved their lives, but theirs saved his soul.

Without Professor Quirrel to bungle Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry discovered he actually liked the subject. The man they brought in to teach, an Auror named Roen, had both an infectious enthusiasm and incredible skill base. Harry was not alone in lamenting that he would be leaving at the year's end. Like Roen said, though, he "had an actual job to do. Not that teaching runts isn't fun, but there's bad people out there that need catching."

With Harry's recent...encounter, he couldn't agree more. He refused to speak of it, which only drove the infamous Hogwarts Rumor Mill wild with speculation. The people who knew the story, which were few and close mouthed, knew that no matter how outlandish the story was, it would pale in comparison to the truth.

Hermione's drive to study for finals was reassuring to Harry. A sign that things were coming back to normal. So when she drew up schedules and badgered him into studying until the wee hours of the morning, he just smiled and hugged her. She'd always ask why, and he'd never say.

Neither she nor anyone else mentioned the runes on his face.

Malfoy, refreshingly, left him alone. Turned out even he could get a hint. Now he sulked around with his two thugs-Harry still didn't know their names- and made vague threats about fathers and regretting this.

Harry was almost sad when the last day of term rolled around and he was looking at an empty dorm. Here was the place that he'd started figuring out who he was and what he could with his powers. He'd met the two greatest friends he'd ever had here.

He'd almost died here. Had killed here. He'd come here happy, healthy, and whole, and was leaving none of those things.

Still. He left the dorm and made his way to the Entrance Hall, where Neville and Hermione were waiting for him. His dad had told him that life was never all great or all horrible. He sort of understood now. Everything was a mixture of good and bad. If he could look back at his year and see more good than bad, he was a lucky man.

"Harry!" Neville spotted him first and waved. Hermione smiled.

Harry grinned back.

Luck? He had loads.

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWO_

**Note: So. Yeah. That's year one. I'm trying to do a complete AU here, not just pick the parts of canon that are good and building out. So plots aren't going to be the same. There still was a Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone, it just wasn't important here. So, year two begins soon. Thinking of doing an interlude chapter for everybody. What do you think? **

**As always, reviews are welcome. **


	4. Hidden Mysteries

**Note: I don't really have much to say in these. Now begins year 2 of Harry's trials and adventures at Hogwarts. I've mostly been getting reviews that say things like 'great story!' or 'I really liked this chapter!', which is brilliant. Seriously, keep it up. I only ask that you tell me _why _you liked it. Tsukyomi God of the Moon is great at this, shout out to you for giving me some decent reviews. I'm trying to slow down the pacing a little, but this is a story about Harry, not about Harry at Hogwarts, if that makes sense. If it doesn't, PM me and I'll talk your ear off. **

**One more thing. Ryandark, my boy. You hit the nail on the head. I'm using the first three years to show why Harry is the way he is and establish what he can do. Come fourth year, though, shit gets real. **

**So much for not having a lot to say. **

**And here...we...go!**

_CHAPTER THREE: HIDDEN MYSTERIES_

* * *

_He lay gasping for breath on the cold stone floor. His blood was pooling beneath him and his limbs were bent the wrong way. He tried to draw power to himself, but the pain in his mind prevented him from doing anything. He had lost. Even after throwing everything he'd had at it, he'd still lost. _

_And now he was going to die. _

_The wraith wearing the face of the man who'd been Professor Quirrel floated over him, thin lips stretched over rotting teeth in a victorious grin. It held up one of its talons, and his heart stopped. It had his blood. He watched in horror as it licked the blood off and shuddered. _

"Thank you, Harry._" it hissed. "_For helping my master return. Take pleasure in knowing that your life will bring about his rise to power. _"_

_Harry screamed, defiance and agony rolled into one sound, and tried to force his broken body to move, to do _something. _He was done. He could only stare as the wraith reared back and slashed down at his throat. _

With a jerk, Harry woke. His hands and eyes glowed as he looked wildly around the room-his room- for any signs of it. His jackrabbit heart slowed it racing beat as he realized that he was safe. He was at home, with his family, behind the strongest wards Dumbledore could make. More importantly, the wraith was dead.

He was safe. He was safe. He told himself this until he believed it enough to let the power fade from him. The golden glow in his room disappeared, leaving only soft moonlight coming in through his window. From her perch on his desk, Hedwig hooted at him. He scrubbed at his face and looked at his clock.

Four in the morning. The closest he'd come to a full night's sleep in months. Physically he'd fully recovered. In fact, he was in the best shape of his life. Mentally, on the other hand...

The nightmares were fading, but they hadn't truly left. Not yet.

A soft knock on his door almost had him blowing it to splinters before he stopped himself. It cracked open and Petunia's tired, worried face peered in. "Harry," she said quietly. "I heard a noise. What was it? Another nightmare?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, mum."

She came into the room and sat on the edge of his bed. She fussed with his sheets before placing a calming hand on his leg. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

She gave him a look. "Harry, you know talking about this helps. It's the only way you'll ever get past it."

He sighed. "I know, but...It's hard. Having these nightmares is bad enough, but knowing I'm making you and dad worry? That's even worse. I don't want to make you worry."

"Oh, you silly boy." she gathered him close and kissed the top of his head. "We're your parents, it's our job to worry about you. No matter what happens, we worry. But shutting us out just makes it worse for everyone."

He sighed again, deeply. "Fine, but remember, you asked for this."

Then he told her everything he remembered. About that night, about the dreams, about everything that bothered him. He talked from four in the morning until half past five, and the entire time Petunia didn't say a word. She just held him close and listened. When he was done he felt...lighter. Like talking had shed some of what he was feeling. He wanted to smile, so he did.

"Thanks, mum."

"For what, sweetie?"

"Listening."

She hugged him tighter. "Always, Harry. Always. Now, what do you say to a cup of tea? I sure could use one."

Harry nodded and grinned. A cup of tea sounded like just the thing he needed.

* * *

Down in the kitchen he sat at the table and watched Petunia bustle around with the ease of someone intimately familiar with the room. This room was her throne room. She was queen of the house; he and the rest of the men of Number 4, Privet Drive knew this, but the kitchen...that was hers and hers alone. They were there on an invite only basis. A few minutes later Harry had his steaming cup in front of him and he sipped it gently. While he waited for it to cool enough to drink in earnest he thought about the last few weeks since he'd been home.

Dudley hadn't known what to make of Harry's new appearance. All he'd done when he saw his scars was hiss and says, "Ouch. Sorry, Harry. Wanna go to the pool?" Petunia told him later that night that Vernon had warned his brother ahead of time so he wouldn't stare. The next morning while Vernon was enjoying the morning paper Harry had jumped on him and given him the biggest hug he could. When asked why, he'd said, "Cuz you're the best dad ever."

It took the neighborhood kids a lot longer to get used to his changes. Even though for some reason they glossed over the runes on his face, the scars on his chest and leg were enough to draw attention at the neighborhood pool. He got asked a lot of questions, questions he didn't want to answer. Dudley took it upon himself to act as a sort of wall between him and them, which he was eternally grateful for. He'd never admit it, but he was.

The true highlight of that summer came about a month in, when the phone rang. He was in the living room, being thoroughly trounced by Dudley in a PlayStation racing game. He registered the phone ringing somewhere in the back of his mind, but was too focused on not crashing his race car to notice.

"Harry!" Petunia cut through his concentration much easier. "Telephone for you!"

"Who is it?" he shouted back. His car bounced off a wall and sent him, Dudley, and six other digital cars into a massive accident. "Bollocks!"

"Language," she shouted back, "and she says her name's Hermione!"

Harry dropped the controller, earning a "Hey!" from Dudley, vaulted the couch and scrambled into the kitchen.

"Oh, here he is now." Petunia said into the phone, smiling at him as he skidded to a stop in front of her. He snatched the phone from her grasp and took a moment to calm down so it didn't sound like he'd raced through the sitting room.

"Hey, Hermione." he said. Petunia laughed for some reason and left him some privacy.

"Harry!" she nearly yelled. "Why haven't you written back? I've sent you loads of letters and you've not written back once. You better have a good explanation!"

"Nice to hear from you, too, Hermione. How've you been? Me? I've been great. Swimming at the pool, mowing lawns for pocket money, beating Dudley at racing("No he hasn't!"), you know, summer stuff."

"Harry!"

He laughed. "Sorry, you're just too easy to wind up. What letters? I haven't gotten any letters."

"Really?" Harry could imagine her thoughtful frown. "That's odd. Hang on, I've got an idea." he heard her set down the phone and run off, so he waited patiently for her to return, humming the racing game's soundtrack under his breath. After a few bars, she was back. "Sorry, but I just sent you another letter. After we get home I'll send you one by normal post and we'll see what happens."

"Sounds good," he said, perplexed. Who else had written him letters he hadn't received? "Listen, where are you, anyways?"

"Oh, we're in Blackpool, staying for a few days until they turn on the lights. Then I'm back at home until school starts. We were going to go to Nice, but then Mum and Dad changed their minds. Blackpool's nice, but it's not France." he could hear a little pout in her voice. "What about you? Is that all you've been doing?"

Harry shrugged. "Pretty much."

In a much softer voice she asked. "And the nightmares?"

"Only sometimes. Honestly, it's getting better. Talking with mum helps."

"I'm so glad you're talking to someone, Harry! Oh, wait, Mum's waving at me, looks like we're going to lunch. Got to go, bye Harry! See you soon!"

"Bye, Hermione!" Harry laughed, then hung up. He turned to go back to the game only to see Dudley with a rather evil look on his face.

"Who's Hermione?" he asked. "Is she your _girlfriend_?"

The resulting fight nearly destroyed the sitting room couch. It did break a lamp.

Now Harry had to mow even _more _lawns. Sometimes having a brother was crap.

* * *

He was pretty sure someone was following him. Sometimes, when he was at the pool or just wandering about, the hairs on his neck would stand for no reason. But whenever he looked, no one was there. It freaked him out enough to send a letter to Professor Dumbledore, but so far he'd gotten no response.

Even weirder was the fact that, a few days after he sent that letter, it stopped.

Meanwhile, the nightmares had almost completely ceased. They only came once or twice a week. The trade off for their rarity was their potency. Each one had him waking in a tangle of sheets and covered in sweat. Petunia said she could hear him scream sometimes before he woke up. These ones he didn't remember, and some part of him said to be glad about that. He still wasn't getting any letters from owl post, though the one Hermione sent normally arrived just fine. So he asked to tell everyone else how it worked so they could talk that way, and letters started arriving.

The weird block on owl post circumvented, he then started thinking about the homework he wasn't doing. His trunk was currently in the cupboard under the stairs, he passed it every morning on the way to breakfast, and yet he couldn't make himself open it up and get to work. Even though Hermione had sent him several letters along the lines of getting it done.

July passed in a haze of heat, rain, and chores. The first few weeks of August were the same. In the third week of that month his school list had arrived, and the next day Petunia took him to Diagon Alley to get his shopping done.

Diagon Alley was the same as before. As far as he could tell, not a brick was out of place. Flourish and Blotts was still on the corner, if a little crowded, Gringotts was still massive and intimidating. The Leaky Cauldron...was there. Nothing had changed.

Why, then, did it feel so different?

Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the Alley had changed. He buzzed through the owl emporium to pick up some treats for Hedwig before heading over to the apothecary for Potions ingredients. It wasn't until he was on his way to the bookstore, where he'd promised to meet Petunia in half an hour, that it hit him.

The Alley hadn't changed.

_He _had.

As revelations went, it wasn't earth shattering, but it was enough to make him stop in the street and earn a rude comment from the heavily laden wizard behind him. There'd been little clues. People were staring, they always had. Now they weren't staring at his scar, though. Now they watched his face, or how he limped occasionally when his missing toe twinged. He could feel the magic of the Alley in the air like a breeze. He half expected it to ruffle his hair.

"Sweetie?" Petunia's voice drew him out of his thoughts. "Is everything all right?"

He'd reached Flourish and Blotts and hadn't even realized. Harry joined her and leaned into her arm. She wrapped it around his shoulder and gave him a squeeze.

"Did something happen?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head. "it's nothing, just... everything feels different, mum."

Petunia ignored the crowd of women trying to bull their way into the bookstore behind them. "How do you mean?"

"It's like everything looks the same, nothing's changed, right? But it all _feels_ different. I think I know why."

She waited.

"I don't think the Alley's changed. I think I have."

A long minute passed before she answered. From inside the store there came a muffled cry of "No pushing, no shoving! One at a time! One at a time!". He could see Petunia gathering her thoughts before she answered and waited impatiently for her to do so.

"I think it's because you have, sweetie. Most of the people...what you've experienced in this last year, nothing they'll do in their lives will measure up. What is it I've always said about you?"

Harry frowned. "That I never bring my dirty clothes to wash?"

Petunia laughed and kissed his head. "No, though that's true as well. You're unique, Harry. There's only one person like you in the world."

"Mum, every mum says that about their kid." he protested. "I heard Piers' mum saying it the other day."

"And she meant it just as much as I did." she looked intently at him. "If this is about your ability, Harry, then I don't know what to tell you. I doubt anyone does."

"Is that all I am? Gold eyes and a scar?"

She steered them into the store and into the mass of women, kissing his cheek again. "Not even remotely. It's just what you see at first glance."

Her words didn't take away his worries like they did when he was little. They did help, though.

Harry frowned at the crowd. "Wonder what's going on?"

* * *

What had been going on was a man so thoroughly annoying that immediately following the purchase of his books Harry had grabbed Petunia's arm and dragged her out of the store. After they'd seen a fight between a red headed man and someone who looked a lot like Malfoy twenty years from now, they'd left the Alley and returned home. That night he lay in bed, unable to sleep. For some reason he kept coming back to the man who looked like Malfoy.

The fact that he was Malfoy's father was obvious. That wasn't what was keeping him up. Nor was it the way in which the man sneered at everyone, or even in the way he either ignored or berated his son. He and Harry had made eye contact for a brief moment. It was the look in Malfoy Senior's eyes that kept him from sleep. They practically burned with hate. Harry had seen that sort of hate, once before.

The wraith that had once been Professor Quirrel had looked at him with eyes like that.

It was why he didn't fall asleep until half past two.

Malfoy's dad wanted to kill him.

* * *

"Up!" Sharp rapping. Couldn't they see he was sleeping? "Get up, Harry!"

Harry? Who was Harry? He wasn't, that was for sure. He rolled over and prepared to go back to sleep.

"Harry, you're going to miss the train!"

_That _woke him up. He _was _Harry, after all. A bleary eye checked the clock on the nightstand, sending a bolt of energy rushing through him. He was late, he was late, he was late. Quick scan of the room.

It was a mess. Clothes were scattered over any available surface. A pile of socks lay at the foot of his bed. His robes were draped over the door to his closet, out of which a small monster of dirty clothes was growing. His shoes were long gone, buried under a mass of socks. Somewhere by his desk was his trunk, which was how the whole mess got started.

"Crap," he muttered, throwing off the blankets and dressing hurriedly. The knocking came again, louder. "I'm up!" he shouted.

"Five minutes!" was the reply.

Five minutes. Right. He could do this. He waved his hand at his room and felt a brief heat where the runes on his face were etched. His room packed itself without any of the drain from last year, and in two minutes he was down stairs and ready to go. Petunia was in the kitchen with Vernon, sharing an exasperated expression between them.

"...I swear," she was saying. "every single year it's been rush, rush, rush. You'd think he'd remember by now the train leaves at 10:30."

Vernon was going to say something, but cut himself off at Harry's arrival. He paused only long enough to hug his dad goodbye before rushing out the door, shouting, "Come one, mum, we're going to be late!"

Vernon's belly laugh followed them into the car. It was a great start to the year.

* * *

This, however, wasn't. He'd been having such a good time, too. They'd missed the early morning rush into London because he overslept, so when they pulled into King's Cross it was with twenty whole minutes to spare. Plenty of time, Harry thought. Petunia disagreed, vocally and all the way to the station. He made a promise to himself not to oversleep again, if only to not make that vein in her forehead pop out like that.

Then there was this. This being the barrier to the platform not opening. He'd already bounced off it and bruised his sternum once, and wasn't in a hurry to try that again. Petunia had an appointment in town that she'd had to rush off for, apologizing the whole way, so that wasn't an option.

He went to a nearby bench, propped his feet on his trunk, and thought. As he did an entire family of redheads, the father of which he vaguely recognized from the fight in the bookstore, went through with no problem.

"Huh." he leaned forward, elbows on knees. "How about that? What do you think, Hedwig? Someone trying to keep me off the train?"

Hedwig hooted. Harry nodded.

"I thought so, too. Now, the only question is what to do."

Hoot.

"I could do that. Of course, using my power isn't exactly easy to hide, what with the glowing and the heat and such. I'll write Dumbledore, just in case something goes wrong."

Course of action decided, he dug through his trunk for parchment, quill and ink. Then, balancing all three on the curved surface of his trunk, he scribbled a hasty note.

_Professor, _

_Barrier to 9 and ¾ blocked. Don't know why. Going to try something. If it works, I'll see you at the feast. If not, I'm still at King's Cross, or at home if I can get some change for a pay phone._

_Harry_

He rolled up the parchment and tied it to Hedwig's foot, who took off before he could tell her where to go. Still, he thought, she's a smart bird, she'll know where to go.

Hopefully.

He sighed and took his trolley back to the barrier, already drawing power to him. It circled his fingers, danced the gaps between the digits and eddied in his palms. His heart picked up speed and he grinned. He reached the barrier, stepped around his trunk, and laid his hands on the rough brick.

"_Open_." he mumbled, and felt his power leave him in a rush, like a river bursting from a dam. Which would make the platform barrier another dam further downstream. His magic smashed into a very solid...something that he couldn't see. He could only feel it. It pushed back against him and he poured on more magic. His face burned again, and he was sure his eyes were leaking wisps of light.

It was a struggle, one that made the space behind Harry's eyes ache and his stomach turn circles, but eventually the barrier gave and he and his trunk fell through onto the platform. "Yes!" he pumped his fist. The train whistled. "No!"

He scrambled aboard, never seeing the increased stares as he passed. It was when he reached a compartment, Neville and Hermione already ensconced inside, that he saw something had changed.

"Harry...?" Hermione trailed off, frowning at his face before shaking her head and damn near crushing his ribs in one of her hugs. "It's lovely to see you! How have you been? Get all your work done? Did you figure out why you weren't getting owl post?"

"Yes, yes, and no." he said, returning the hug. "Hey, Neville. Good summer?"

Neville nodded. "Not bad. I managed to crossbreed a new strain of plant, but I'm not sure if anyone else can see it."

"Why not? Is it invisible?" Harry asked as he loaded his trunk and sat down. Neville blushed and looked down.

"No, it...sort of explodes if anyone but me goes near it."

Both his and Hermione's eyebrows rose at that. "Well," she said after a moment. "I'm sure there could be a practical application for that. Home defense, maybe?"

"Yeah!" Harry warmed to the idea. "That could work. People could have you come plant them, and then if an intruder tries anything: Bang!" He smacked his palm. "Out like a light! You'd make millions."

Neville's head rose and he started smiling a little. "Yeah," he said. "I could do that." then he frowned. "But what would I call them?"

Harry shrugged. "Flaming Longbottoms?"

The three of them lasted all of half a minute before they started laughing.

* * *

Weirdly, or maybe alarmingly, they weren't bothered by Malfoy on the train. If that wasn't a clue something was up, Harry didn't know what was. It was because of this that he closed and locked the compartment door when there was about fifteen minutes left in the journey. "Guys," he said, "I have to tell you something."

After he was done Hermione waited a few seconds to gather herself before speaking. "Harry, are you sure? I mean, Lucius Malfoy is a very powerful man, and I don't think-no offense- that you're important enough for him to want to kill you."

"Maybe." Harry said doubtfully. "But I've seen the look in his eyes before, and that guy wanted me dead pretty badly too."

"Either way," Neville said. "you should be careful. I told you last year the Malfoys were trouble, and I meant it."

"I will," Harry promised. He decided to keep his conversation with Dumbledore about Malfoy and his dad last year to himself. He didn't know what to make of it, the idea that someone couldn't care about their kid. Hermione shuffled them out into the hall so she could change into her robes. He decided to keep an eye on Malfoy this year.

Maybe he'd figure out what was going on.

* * *

The sorting and welcome feast were the same as last year. There were only two things of note to occur during it. The first was that the extremely annoying person he'd seen in Flourish and Blotts was their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. When he was introduced to the school he stood like he was going to give a speech, but luckily Dumbledore stopped him before that could happen.

The other noteworthy thing was a small year girl with dirty blonde hair and silver eyes named Lovegood, Luna. She took a good twelve minutes to get sorted. For a good ten minutes she sat on the stool and smiled happily before the hat laughed and shouted, "RAVENCLAW!"

Harry had applauded with everyone else, listened to half of the start of term speech, and dug into the feast. He ignored the stares and whispers with practiced ease. They'd been happening since he'd entered the Wizarding World, and had really picked up in October of last year. So he was used to them. He didn't like them, but he was used to them.

Now, though, he was occupied with something more alarming. He was in the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, staring into a mirror at the runes on his face. Over the summer he'd gotten used to them, and in fact barely noticed them anymore. He did know where they stopped. It wasn't the tips of his ears. He ignored the faint scars on his chest and fingered an ear.

They were spreading. It wasn't a pleasant thought to go to sleep to, but Harry managed somehow.

* * *

Their first Defense lesson was a disaster. The first hint of which was the sight that greeted someone when they entered the classroom. Quirrel, before he'd become a wraith and tried to kill him, had filled the room with his various gatherings from adventures. The teacher-Harry had yet to learn his name- had filled the room with pictures of himself.

It was all him, all the time, and it was creepy. Winking, smiling, blonde faces with perfect teeth surrounded Harry as he filed into the room and made him want to scream or set them on fire. Possibly both. He sat down and waited. Neville sat to his left. Hermione sat to his right and removed from her bag every single book written by this guy.

Whoever he was.

Vernon had a friend that came round for tea every Thursday. He had a flair for the dramatic and neck scarves, no matter the weather. Petunia always muttered that he clearly "batted for the other team." Whenever Harry asked what she meant, she'd say she would explain later and send him to his room.

He had the feeling that this professor would be a lot like Vernon's friend. Seconds later the door to his office burst open, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Me," Professor Teeth said. "Five time winner of Witch Weekly's most charming smile award. Receiver of _three _Orders of Merlin, Second Class, and most importantly, your new Defense professor! In case you don't know me-" he laughed like the idea was insanity to suggest. "-allow me to introduce myself. I am Gilderoy Lockhart, and welcome to my class."

Exactly half of the class swooned. Hermione included.

Until Harry kicked her leg.

"Ow!" she hissed, and rubbed her shin. "What did you do that for?"

"You were drooling."

"Was not!"

"Was too."

"I wasn't!"

"You were." Neville cut in. Hermione rounded on him, missing Harry's broad grin. "Now hush, he's looking at us."

To Hermione's mortification and Harry's increased amusement, Professor Teeth was indeed watching them with what could only be described as a predatory grin.

"Well, well," he said, descending the steps from his office one at a time. "Harry Potter. I have waited _so long _to meet you."

Harry was suddenly and brutally reminded of the last person who'd waited to meet him. It soured his already low opinion of Professor Teeth, and it must have shown on his face, because the Professor quickly changed his mind and made for the covered cage on his desk.

"Now," he clapped his hands together. "I have this year to prepare you. Out there, in the wide, wide world are all manner of nasty creatures. Creatures that don't care if your parents love you, or that you know how to cast a certain spell. They don't care if you brush your teeth every night and go to church on Sundays. All they care about, all they think about, is what you taste like, is how much of their stomach you will fill."

He had the class spellbound.

"It is my job to prevent that." he said gravely. He gestured towards the cage. "In my travels I have encountered some of the nastiest, darkest creatures this world has to offer. I am uniquely prepared for this position, and now I will reveal to you something so terrifying that grown wizards have fled for their lives. Do not scream. You may _provoke them_!"

With that, he ripped the cover off the cage. Silence reigned in the class room. It stretched for a minute until Hermione's incredulous voice sang out.

"Pixies?"

"Freshly caught!" Professor Teeth assured her, and just like that the spell was broken. Beside her, Harry rolled his eyes at Neville. Pixies were irritating, true, but they couldn't be dangerous. Neville told stories about chasing them out of his greenhouses all the time, and he never looked worse for wear. That train of thought lasted until the cage door was opened and the pixies were freed.

* * *

Pandemonium didn't imply the amount of chaos that ensued.

Professor Teeth was completely useless, casting a spell that Harry was sure he made up on the spot before running back to his office. Somehow, Harry still wasn't quite sure, Neville ended up dangling from the chandelier. Hermione started stunning them one at a time and chunking them into the cage. A redheaded boy had his wand thrown out a window by an irate pixie and was in the process of being tossed out himself before Harry stunned it and caged the dazed little fiend.

It took the better part of an hour and several bruises on all parts, but Harry, Hermione, and the rest eventually got the pixies caged. Then, she grabbed him and Neville by the arm and dragged them from the room. Neither of them said a word. She was muttering angrily to herself under her breath and they had nearly reached the Great Hall before she'd calmed down enough for him to dare venture a question.

"So," Harry ventured cautiously. It had been about a minute since she'd mumbled something threatening. "your crush. Gone?"

Her reply was cold and angry. "Completely."

* * *

September passed in a haze of nightly study groups. After realizing how ill fitted for the job Professor Teeth was, Hermione had spread the word that if the teachers weren't going to help them, they were damn well going to help themselves. Under her tutelage they learned the book that should have been assigned, then spread out into ones that were recommended by that author.

Harry had to admit that if Hermione wanted to be a teacher, she all but had it in the bag. The girl was a natural.

The day of the Halloween feast he found her in the library he found her thumbing through the Defense texts, mouthing words as she moved along.

"Hey, Hermione?"

She stopped, looked up, and smiled at him. "Hey, Harry. What are you doing here?"

"I can't come to the library?"

"No, you can!" she blushed. "It's just that-you never do."

He shrugged. "Got me there. I just-I just wanted you to know how cool it was, you teaching us all this. You'd make a better teacher than Teeth, I'd wager."

She turned even redder and laughed. "Harry, don't call him that. Not where people can hear you, anyway. And I don't know what I'm doing, I'm just making this up as I go. I'm sure it'll all fall apart sooner or later."

Harry just stared at her for a moment. "You're kidding right? We got kicked out of the library last night there were so many of us. By the end of this semester I wouldn't be surprised if more people were here than in the actual class. Hermione, you're brilliant! Anyone can see it. Even," he grinned. "Neville."

Was there any blood anywhere else in her body? Her face, ears, and neck were almost beet red, and her feet had become the most interesting thing in the known universe. "Y-you think so?"

He grinned wider. "I know so. He always does better after you come by when we practice. He walks with you, he talks with you, he opens doors for you. Come on, does he have to write you a letter?"

She shook her head. "Don't tell him." she said suddenly. "I don't think I could face him if he knew."

Harry shrugged. "Mum always said boys are clueless. I don't know what she means, but I think it works in your favor here. Now let's get to dinner. I'm hungry."

Hermione wouldn't explain why she laughed so hard on the way to dinner. He was so focused on trying to get her to tell him why that he almost forgot that it was Halloween.

Almost.

* * *

It hit him all at once just outside the Great Hall. Through the doors he could see the food and candy and laughter. He didn't want anything to do with it. Last year today he'd nearly died. They were still rebuilding the southern tower. Ten years ago today he'd become an orphan. Today was not his day, and he was well aware of it.

So, he stopped at the doors and turned to Hermione. She was already looking at him, knowing etched on her face. "You're not coming in, are you?"

"Nah." he shook his head. "Think I'm just going to go back to the common room. Bring me some turkey, or something?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." he smiled at her, and walked off. His dark mood took him all the way up through the portrait hole and into the common room. Then he took the steps to his dorm two at a time and dug through his trunk for a particular book. Finding it under his socks he brought it back down to the chair nearest the fire.

Hagrid had given him the book when he'd come down for tea last year. He said it was an apology for taking him into the Forest in the first place. The giant of a man had sent owls to all of Harry's parent's school friends for pictures. The result was sitting in his lap. Inside was picture after picture of his parents, alive and happy.

He had never opened it, nor told anyone about it.

Now it felt like it was time. He took a moment to brace himself and opened it to the first page.

"Hi, mum." he whispered to Lily's smiling face waving up at him.

Tears welled and he let them spill. No one was around to see him cry, anyways.

* * *

"Harry! You're here!"

He looked up, bewildered, just in time for a bushy haired blur to tackle him out of his chair. Hermione was hugging him as tightly as he could, like she was afraid he wasn't actually there. Hesitantly he returned it. He looked over the top of the chair at Neville's slowly appearing face. He looked grim and worried, which transitioned to relief when he saw Harry. Behind him the other Gryffindors filed into the common room and took up the seats.

Behind them all came Professor McGonagall. "Mr. Potter! Are you in here?"

"Here, Professor!" he called. "Down here! Let me up, Hermione."

With a great deal of reluctance in every movement, she did. Harry took in everyone's face. They looked scared. Very, very scared. In the back of his mind he wondered if his life was destined to go to crap every Halloween or if it was just bad luck.

"What's happened?" he asked. Hermione seized an arm and squeezed.

"It's Lavender Brown," she answered. "she's disappeared."

_END CHAPTER THREE_

* * *

**Note: Yeah, I know. Cliffhanger. Yada yada yada. I'm an evil bastard. Here's the thing. The last chapter update was not even a week ago. How long do you think it'll be before the next one comes around? I realize this is a pretty insane update schedule. Don't expect it to last. I'm on the road for the next few days and there's not a whole lot to do but write or read or sleep. Once I get back home I'll have a whole host of lovely distractions to make writing harder. Until then, enjoy my lack of alternative activities.**

**Also, the next chapter contains trace elements of Luna. **


	5. Hidden Mysteries, II

**Note: I'm incredibly humbled by the response to this story. I wasn't expecting...much of anything actually. To have received the response it did is just mind blowing. So thank you. For reading, reviewing, and enjoying. **

**Please. Keep doing so. **

**On with the story. **

_CHAPTER FOUR: HIDDEN MYSTERIES,_ _cont'd_

* * *

To Harry's shame, his first thought upon learning of Lavender's disappearance was; _who's she_? Luckily, Hermione noticed his clueless look and pulled him aside while Professor McGonagall talked with the other Gryffindors.

"Has she really gone missing?" He whispered.

"Yes. No one knows anything. She was on her way to dinner, and then she never came. Dumbledore noticed something was wrong right away." Hermione hissed back. Behind them McGonagall was lecturing about the safety of moving in groups until the incident-that's what she called it-was resolved.

She put on a brave face, but Harry had a knack for spotting a lying adult. It came in handy around Christmas and birthdays. McGonagall's face was impassive, stern, business as usual. But her eyes...they told another story. She was scared. Very scared. And lying. She told them all that Lavender had likely fallen asleep somewhere, perhaps in an empty classroom, of which there were many. Her eyes said she didn't believe a word of it.

"McGonagall knows something." Harry muttered to Hermione, who looked between the Scottish witch and him.

"How can you tell?"

"Her eyes. They're like mum's when she says where she's hidden the Christmas presents. She's lying."

Hermione frowned, and he watched her bring the full strength of her dizzying intellect to bear on Professor McGonagall. He waited for her to come to a conclusion. Either she'd disagree, which he hoped she would, or she wouldn't. If she agreed with him it was time to become very afraid. Not much later, Harry had his answer.

"You're right." Hermione whispered, and Harry's heart sank.

He really, really hated it when he was right. It was never about anything good.

The days following Lavender's disappearance were full of suspicion and whispers. Nobody went anywhere alone, most groups traveled with a teacher. Where did she go? Had she left? Had someone taken her? Had she simply vanished into one of the myriad secrets of Hogwarts castle? There were so many questions, and the professors had answers, but as the days passed and Lavender remained unfound, their answers rang more and more hollow.

Harry didn't know what to believe, other than that she was gone. He made sure to be around Neville and Hermione whenever he could, even skipping class to be with them. Whatever it was that took Lavender wasn't getting them. He wouldn't let it. He promised himself and them that he'd keep them safe. For their part Hermione and Neville reassured him that everything would be okay.

"After all," Neville had joked. "who would mess with the friends of someone who killed a wraith in single combat?"

On November first an answer was found.

A message had been written on second floor corridor, by the unused girl's bathroom. On the stone wall outside, written in blood, was;

_THE CHAMBER HAS OPENED. _

_THE HEIR HAS AWOKEN. _

_HOGWARTS WILL BURN._

"You see that?" Malfoy shouted, eyes alight with glee. His pale face was unusually flushed. "Watch out, Mudbloods, the Heir is coming for you!"

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Malfoy. See Mr. Filch tomorrow evening for your detention." Professor Flitwick had come through the crowd applying stinging hexes to the knees of anyone in his way. Harry, the last person to be stung, rubbed his knee as the diminutive man examined the writing on the wall. He watched Professor Flitwick pace back and forth in front of it, muttering to himself for a good minute before snapping his wand through a series of gestures too quick for the eye to follow.

A silver shape sprang into being and darted away into a wall.

"Everyone stay back!" Flitwick shouted. "the Headmaster is on his way!"

Moments later Dumbledore arrived. Students backed away from him as he approached. The same power he wore about him that Harry had seen last year sheeted off him like rain. Here was the man not be trifled with. Gone was the odd, pleasant old Heamaster. Here was the sharpest mind in two centuries.

Harry was filled with the greatest relief by his presence.

Without a word Dumbledore went to the wall. He traced the words with his fingers, brows furrowed. A moment later he paled, then drew his wand and again moved it too fast for Harry to follow. "Filius," he said, voice hoarse. "Please escort the students to the Great Hall and do a roll call. Once you are done, seal the Hall and send the ghosts and professors to me. I will be here. Go now."

People were already moving by the time Professor Flitwick started shouting for them to follow him. As they distanced themselves from Dumbledore, the effect of his aura diminished and soon conversation sprung up. Speculation ran wild.

"I've never read anything about any chambers," Hermione was saying to Neville, who paid rapt attention. "Nor is their any mention of an heir in any of the Hogwarts reference books."

"Do you think it has something to do with Lavender?" Neville asked.

"Yes," Harry said, finality in his tone. "There's no way it doesn't. Also, Hermione, there's no mention of a chamber or heir in any book? Anywhere?"

"Yes."

"Maybe there's a reason for that." Hermione frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Surprisingly, it was Neville who had the answer. "How do you keep something hidden in a place surrounded by legend and full of people for half a year?"

Her eyes widened. "Omit it from the books. Of course, how could I have not have seen that? I was looking for what was there, not what _wasn't_. Neville, you're brilliant!" she then drove any thoughts of anything from Neville's mind by kissing him firmly on the cheek.

Red faced, they entered the Great Hall. Harry followed, laughing. For a moment, at least, all was forgotten. But the mystery lay just outside the massive doors, waiting to be solved. He knew the way his luck ran he'd end up a part of it.

That didn't stop him from hoping he was wrong.

* * *

He stared at where the entrance to the sixth floor corridor used to be. The air was still full of dust, and his ears still rang with the sound of collapsing stone. It had frozen him. The first _crack _had sent him back in his mind and stopped him in his tracks. It was only through the grace of a small, floppy eared being that he was still alive.

Said being was shaking dust from its tunic, which upon closer inspection turned out to bee a tea cozy. It had unnaturally large eyes that stuck out slightly. There was a bruise on its forehead that looked old, and it had bandages around its hands.

"Thanks for saving me," Harry said. He coughed. "But who are you?"

The little thing smiled up at him. "I is being Dobby, Harry Potter. You is being welcome."

A large part of his mind was occupied with the fact that someone had, just moments ago, tried to kill him. The rest of it had a single object of focus.

Dobby, whatever he was, knew his name.

If he knew that...

"Dobby, do you know what's going on here?"

Dobby's eyes grew wider and fearful. "Dobby does, but he is being forbidden to speak of it! Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter, but a house elf cannot disobey his master's orders!"

Harry had a sinking suspicion he knew which family Dobby, evidently a house elf, worked for. But first he wanted to sit down. Or maybe throw up. The stairs seemed as good enough a place for both as any. He sat and put his head between his knees, breathing deeply.

"Is Harry Potter being okay?"

The squeaked question brought his eyes back up. The little elf, covered in dust, looking at him with concern on every feature.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks. Listen," he forced his mind to work and succeeded somewhat. "who is your family, or can you not tell me that?"

Dobby shook his head. Harry thought.

"Okay, can you tell me if they have something to do with what's going on here?"

Dobby nodded.

"Great, thanks." He tried to get his brain to work in something approaching linear thoughts. _Come on, Harry, think!_, a voice that sounded a lot like Hermione said. So he did. If Dobby couldn't outright tell Harry who he worked for, and they had something to do with Lavender's disappearance, then...

He sighed, and dropped his face into his hands. "Dobby," he said tiredly. "can I guess who your family is?"

"Harry Potter can, but Dobby cannot say yes."

"Can you say no?"

A long, thoughtful silence. "Yes."

"Okay," it didn't take long, and there wasn't a giant list of people he suspected. "the Bones'?"

"No, Harry Potter."

"The Longbottoms?"

"No, Harry Potter."

"Me?"

"Regrettably, no, Harry Potter."

"Is it the Malfoys?"

Silence.

Harry's heart sunk. "Thanks, Dobby. You better get out of here before someone shows up." the little elf vanished with a crack. He didn't look up. He was still trying to process nearly dying, and the knowledge of who had attempted it. He snorted. At least one good thing had come. He now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was important enough for Lucius Malfoy to want dead.

That was just great.

Hermione would be thrilled.

"_Evanesco_." a familiar Scottish accent came through the dusty air. A hum of magic on Harry's arm hairs and the dust vanished, revealing the shocked face of one Professor McGonagall. "Mr. Potter...what happened now?"

He swallowed. "I think...someone just tried to kill me, Professor."

Now seemed like as good a time as any to throw up.

So he did.

* * *

Harry considered it a mark of his continuing maturity that he was in the Headmaster's office for something other than beating up or exploding Malfoy. That, or he was still on shock. Dumbledore sat across from him with a worried look on his old face. His hands, palms together, rested against his chin.

"You are absolutely certain of this, Mr. Potter?"

Harry returned the searching look and gestured to himself. He was covered in dust and there was blood on his sleeve from where a stray piece of stone had nicked his arm. "I'm pretty sure I know when a stone archway tries to fall on me, sir."

"Oh!" Dumbledore waved an irritated hand. "Not that! You have stated that someone has tried to kill you. I want you to be aware of the consequences of such an accusation. I have to report this to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They will conduct an investigation. If they find something, they will take action. If not, _there is nothing I can do_. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Harry said, swallowing. The old wizard looked tired, more than he had ever seen him look before. There were bags under those electric blue eyes and there were more frown lines than before. Hesitantly, Harry asked, "You believe me, don't you?"

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "We both know the answer to that, Mr. Potter. Someone has been trying to kill you since the day you were born. Just because Voldemort failed doesn't mean his followers won't stop trying."

Harry paled as something occurred to him. "Malfoy's dad. Was he one of those followers?"

"Yes."

He took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. "Sir, I think Lucius Malfoy tried to have me killed today."

"Is this an official accusation, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore sighed. "I'll make the call. I trust you can see yourself out."

Just as Harry left he saw the old wizard throw a handful of powder into the fireplace and stick his head in. Wondering what exactly had just happened, he left and went back to the common room. He had a lot to tell Hermione and Neville. Maybe with their help he could figure out what exactly had just happened, and why Dumbledore had looked so defeated.

* * *

"Hey, Harry! I was just looking for-God's wounds, what happened?"

Harry blinked at Neville. "What? Oh." he was still covered in dust. He rubbed absently at one of the tears in his robes, not noticing the worried looks the common room was giving him. Then he laughed, more sob than anything. "Hey, Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?" her voice was soft, her expression worried.

"You remember how you said I wasn't important enough for Malfoy's dad to want dead?"

"I didn't mean-"

"You were wrong. I am. He does."

Neville swore colorfully under his breath. It was a mark of Hermione's shock, Harry thought, that she didn't scold him for it. He sat down between them on the couch and stared at his dusty, scuffed hands. He felt the cushion to his right shift and heard Neville's low voice murmuring to the rest of the room.

Hermione took his hand. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"No. I mean, I don't think so. Bit of stone caught my arm, but I think I'm okay."

"Then what's wrong?"

He took a slow, deep breath, and wondered if his stomach would ever resembled its original shape. "Malfoy's dad wanting me dead. I'm scared, Hermione. So scared. It was different with the wraith. I found him, he hurt me, then a week later it was all over. This...it's different. I don't know how, but it's different. I just," he cut himself off when his voice started cracking. His eyes welled and Hermione squeezed his hand. A few tears escaped and tracked down his cheeks. "I don't think I like it here anymore. I want to go home."

He squeezed her hand and felt one on his shoulder. "Whatever you do," Neville said. "We're here for you, Harry."

Harry covered Neville's hand with his own and gave Hermione a watery smile. "Thanks, guys."

"That goes for us, too." He looked up, shocked, to see Gryffindor standing around him. The girl who'd just spoken still had her Quidditch leathers on. Behind her he saw the rest of his house with the same expression on their faces.

He wasn't alone.

Harry didn't know of words strong enough to convey his gratitude for that.

* * *

The investigation, led by a terrifyingly scarred man called Moody, lasted three weeks. Aurors turned the school inside out and interviewed the entire student body. Some, Harry noticed, more than once. As the days passed and nothing came up, his fears grew.

He didn't want this for him. Well, he did, but it wasn't because he was attacked and wanted retribution. Why he was doing this, what he wanted from it all, was simply to be safe. Lucius Malfoy free and able to do what he wanted was, it seemed, an opponent of that. He didn't want to be afraid anymore.

When the investigation turned up nothing, the bottom dropped out of Harry's stomach. Dinner, which he'd been in the middle of eating when he got the news, didn't look as appetizing as it had not moments before. He pushed his plate away from him and raced to his room, ignoring the shouts that followed him out of the Great Hall. He tore through his trunk for writing materials, and blotted ink over the letter in his haste to write it out.

_Help me. Someone's trying to kill me, and the police can't do anything about it cuz he's got the PM in his pocket. I'm scared and I don't want to be here anymore. Come and get me please. _

_Harry_

He rolled the letter and slipped it into his pocket. He ran back out through the portrait hole and sprinted towards the owlrey. Hallway shadows seemed to leap out at him, and every painting watched him silently. Forty feet from the door to Hedwig and safety, he ran into something that made him skid to a halt.

It was Malfoy, and what seemed like every male fifth-year in Slytherin. And none of them looked happy.

_Not here_. Harry looked around wildly. _Not now_. There was no escape. He took a deep breath and reined himself in. He could do this. _Calm, Harry_. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy was vibrating with barely contained rage. His pale face was flushed, his wand was gripped in a tight hand and shooting green sparks from the tip. "You," he snarled. "accused my House of attempted murder."

"I did."

"Why?"

Harry stared. Did he really not know? "Your dad tried to kill me. Dropped a corridor on me. If it weren't for a house elf called Dobby I'd be dead."

He didn't know what he said, but every trace of Malfoy's anger vanished. He paled even beyond what he normally was and almost dropped his wand. "What?"

"Your dad. Tried. To kill me."

Malfoy shook his head. "He couldn't have. He wouldn't. You're lying!" he slashed his wand at Harry, sending something dark and vicious his way. Malfoy watched the spell leave his wand, shocked.

Harry held up a hand. A shield of woven gold light sprang into being and deflected the curse into the ceiling. He danced out from under it. "What are you doing?" He shouted. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"No, I didn't-" Malfoy was cut off by an older, uglier boy.

"Kill the Golden Boy?" He grinned nastily. "Sounds like a good idea."

"Carrow, don't-" Malfoy tried again, but was silenced by a glare. He looked around wildly, backing away from the Slytherins and towards the stairs to the dungeon. Harry watched, completely bewildered.

It almost cost him his head. Magic, sharp and lethal, sliced through the air not centimeters from his head. Harry dodged out of the way of the next spell and held up his hands again. A dome of the same woven light circled him, spinning the spells away from him. He crouched and held his hands over his head, sustaining the shield against the pounding it was receiving.

The drain was immense, but he held on. "Stop!" he screamed. "Stop it!"

Over the din, no one heard him. He doubted they'd have stopped anyway. Dust flew, heralded by chunks of shrapnel from the walls and ceiling. Explosions left scorch marks on the walls as the majority of Slytherin house tried to kill him.

Until, that is, the single most powerful disarming spell Harry had ever seen ripped the wands from their hands. They flew past him, and he spun to follow their trajectory. They landed in a clatter at the feet of a furious Albus Dumbledore.

Harry had never seen anything more intimidating. Even the wraith would have run from that face. There was no trace of the smile in his eyes, no sign of the laugh lines on his face. His mouth was set in a hard line, and the air around him crackled with power. It filled the air so much Harry could taste it.

"Never," Dumbledore said, his words ringing like a clap of thunder. "have I seen _anything _as deplorable as this." he stalked forward, and as he did the walls and ceiling repaired themselves behind him. "You have more thoroughly disappointed me, your school, your house, and your families more than anything in recent history."

Dumbledore drew himself up, eyes full of regretful fury. "For the assault and attempted murder of a fellow student, you are all hereby expelled from Hogwarts. As most of you have not taken your O.W.L.s, your wands will be snapped and your families notified. _Get out of my school_."

Just like that, they vanished. It was as if Hogwarts decided they were no longer fit to walk its halls. Harry wondered how far from the truth that thought was. When Dumbledore turned him all of the fury had left, and there was nothing left but regret.

"Come with me, Harry." he said. "There is something we need to discuss."

* * *

"I was hoping this wouldn't happen, Harry."

"Sir?"

Dumbledore produced a sheaf of parchment from the endless pile on his desk. "This is letter from the Board of Governors. I've been asked to retire."

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "What?"

"What's more, without my presence, Lucius was finally able to push through your expulsion. I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry's hands were shaking. "What's happening?"

Dumbledore looked sadly at him. "This is vengeance. And punishment. I fear Lucius is the mastermind behind this. He has always been a vindictive man, and we have both given him reason to want us harmed."

"I-my parents?"

"I've told them. They're upset for you."

"They're not mad at me?"

"Why would they be? You've done nothing wrong, Harry. Not a thing. This is the result of a petty man's ambition. He was aiming for me. It is to my great regret and his good fortune that you were caught in the crossfire."

"What about Lavender? With you gone, people will disappear left and right!"

If it was possible, Dumbledore looked even older and more run down than before. "I fear Ms. Brown will have to be found without my help. As to the rest, I must ask something of you I have no right to. Protect them, Harry. Please. I've managed to keep you here until the semester's end. By that time I hoped to have overturned my dismissal."

"Me? Protect the whole school?"

"If there is anyone who can, it is you. I have nothing but faith in you, Mr.- Harry. And I am so very sorry. For everything."

Harry left Dumbledore's office, numb. He went to the owlrey on instinct, and climbed into the rafters. He curled his legs into his chest and buried his face in his knees. Then, with a great heaving sob, his tears broke loose. Neville and Hermione, followed by a worried Professor McGonagall, found him there an hour later. Without a word, they led him back to the common room.

* * *

Neither of his friends were saying anything, but they were watching him. He could feel their eyes on him when they were eating breakfast, or in the library, or between classes on the grounds or in the common room. Harry was both annoyed and comforted by this. He was working through what Dumbledore had told him the week before, and had just managed to wrap his head around it when the day came.

Dumbledore stood up at breakfast, made the announcement, and sat down.

Stunned silence filled the hall, then an explosion of questions, outrage and in some cases, glee. Harry watched them all, and watched one in particular. A small girl with dirty blonde hair and silver eyes. She stared at Dumbledore with a look of stark terror on her face.

Eventually the teachers managed to calm everyone down. McGonagall stood and spoke her piece, she'd take over as Headmistress and there was nothing to worry about. He didn't hear that, though. His thoughts were full of what exactly it was that made that girl look as scared as he was about Dumbledore's leaving.

When they were dismissed he kept his eyes on her. He didn't want to lose her in the crowd. Without looking away he said to Neville and Hermione "I'll meet you in the common room. There's someone I need to talk to."

And then, without waiting to hear their response, he waded into the sea of bodies. He pushed and excuse-me'd his way through, keeping his eyes on dirty blonde hair. A pair of thickset Hufflepuffs blocked his view for a minute, and when he managed to wriggle through he lost her. He stood on the stairs and looked around. Where had she gone? He caught a glimpse of her hair swishing around a corner down a hallway and hurried after her.

The corridor led to a balcony overlooking the southern half of the castle. Harry forgot about finding the girl when he saw the effects of his battle with the wraith. The foundations of the tower poked up gamely from the ground. It reminded him of a plant growing on the motorway. Scaffolding surrounded it and rose. If he squinted he could see tiny figures scurrying about near it.

"Hello, Harry Potter." an airy voice said behind him. "Are you enjoying the view?"

Harry spun around to see the reason he was here in the first place looking inquisitively at him. This close he could see she was quite pretty. Her hair framed an elfin face, all pointed chin, high cheekbones, and an upturned nose that gave her an air of mischief. She kept her wand behind her ear and, at first glance, appeared to somewhat insane. He didn't put much stock in that. First appearances meant little in the end. He hoped.

"Um...I...yes, actually." he said, just then noticing that she was looking down and to his left. "Why aren't you looking at me?"

"You're so bright. How do you see anything, shining like that?"

Harry looked down at himself, wondering if he'd done something with his power on accident. "I'm not."

"Oh, you are." she assured him, nodding seriously. "You're like a star, Harry Potter; all light, fire and life. It's beautiful. And terrifying. Why did you want to talk to me?"

He stared. "What? I-what?"

She continued as if talking about the weather. "People don't generally talk to me unless they want something. They find me odd, you see."

Harry couldn't possibly imagine why. Then he felt guilty because he not only found her odd, but that he'd tracked her down specifically to ask her something. "Well...would you mind if I asked you something?" he rubbed the back of his neck.

She smiled. "No. Go ahead."

"Why did you look so scared when Dumb-Professor Dumbledore said he was leaving? No one else looked like that. I wanted to know because...because that's how I feel, and I wanted to know what made us different."

Her smile was long gone. She gave him a sad, sympathetic look. "Because we see clearly when they look through fog. You and I see Dumbledore for who he is. They don't. We know that without him things will become very bad before they get better. All they see is Dumbledore retiring. Some of them are probably pleased."she shuddered. "I can't imagine why."

"Don't worry," Harry found himself saying. "I'll keep you safe."

She looked at him through grave, silver eyes. "It's not me I'm worried about. It's you."

* * *

Harry returned to the common room, full of his conversation with Luna. What she'd said resonated. She'd pointed out what he'd been noticing in people over the last few days. They didn't look as scared as he was. Dumbledore was _leaving_. The man who was supposed to protect them all was going away. No one cared. No, that was wrong. People cared. Just for the wrong reason.

His thoughts were derailed upon noticing the look in the common room. His stomach twisted up again. He _knew _it. Harry knew this would happen.

He just wished he was wrong.

Hermione tackled him in another hug. "Where were you? You had us worried!"

"I was talking to someone." he said. "What's going on?"

She hadn't let him go yet, and showed no signs of doing so. Neville came up to them and lowered his voice.

"More people went missing."

"Who?" he asked over Hermione's shoulder.

"Hannah Abbot, Pansy Parkinson, and Marietta Edgecombe."

That made his mind up for him. For days he'd been thinking about whether to tell anyone what Dumbledore told him about Malfoy and what he was doing. He'd held himself back. It had been his burden to bear, what's more he didn't want to worry anyone. Now, though, he knew he needed help. He couldn't do this alone. He didn't want to do it at all.

Harry pulled them over to their usual place. Once he was sure no one was listening in he bent forward and whispered. "I need to tell you something. Before he left, Dumbledore told me to do something. He said I was the only one who could..."

When he was done, Hermione and Neville sat in silence. He sat back, throat dry, and waited for them to gather their thoughts. Then Neville swore.

"Language!" Hermione scolded, then blushed. "Reflex. What is it?"

"What was he thinking?" Neville demanded. "You're just a kid, Harry, you can't do something like protect the entire bloody school on your own! Meaning no disrespect, I know how powerful you are, but that's not the point." he stood up and started to pace, full of a fire that Harry hadn't seen from him before. " The point is that he should have gone to McGonagall. She's his Deputy, for God's sake! And a teacher to boot! If he was really worried, he should have done more than sit on his duff while the Aurors investigated the school!"

"I don't think he could do anything else." Harry said quietly. Neville flopped back into his seat. Hermione rubbed his arm comfortingly.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I dunno, really. Just...when I was there, he looked tired. Really, really tired. I think something else has been going on that's been drawing his attention. Like, when Dudley wanted to get away with something, he'd have me pull something bigger to draw mum and dad's focus away from that, or the other way 'round."

Hermione frowned. "You think the same thing is going on?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I mean, it's not skiving off chores, but it's the same idea."

Her frown deepened. "What's worse, it would probably work. Granted, you'd need an obscene amount of money, vast political connections, and a willingness to bribe or threaten a large number of people. But it could work."

"Last I checked," Neville said heavily. "the Malfoys had all of those things."

There was another long silence while Harry stared into the fire. He was processing the confirmation-_finally_-of what he had long known in his heart. That Lucius Malfoy wanted him dead or at the very least out of Hogwarts. Anger at a man he didn't at all know filled him. It wasn't the cold hate he carried for Voldemort. It was hot and impulsive and demanded action.

Action that he was more than willing to take. "Right." he said. "I'm going to McGonagall. Hopefully she'll be able to sort this out." he headed for the portrait hole before stopping. "Where's her office, anyways?"

Neville shrugged. "No idea."

So did Hermione. "Me neither."

"Okay. I'll talk to her in the morning." he decided. Morning took a long time to come.

* * *

"And you're sure about this, Mr. Potter?"

"I am. I don't know why he told me to do it, but I thought you should know."

Professor McGonagall frowned for a moment before nodding and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Twenty points to Gryffindor. Run along now. I'll take care of it."

"Twenty points? What for?"

She gave him a rare smile. "For doing the right thing, of course."

* * *

It was running towards the end of November, and the end of the first semester, when Hermione found an answer to one of their mysteries. Harry and Neville were in the common room, trying to do their homework. Harry couldn't focus. He kept thinking about the students that had disappeared. Had the Heir, whoever they were, taken them? If he had, why? Were they alive? Above all, where were they? It was to this last question that Hermione found the answer.

Typically of her, she'd found it in the library.

"I found it!" she hissed, setting a variety of newspaper clippings and an old book down on top of his halfhearted Potions essay on moonstones. Harry picked up one of the yellowed papers. The headline read, _**Hogwarts Students found Dead. Mysterious Heir to blame? **_Another one read, _**What is the Chamber? Headmaster denies knowledge. **_

Harry gave her a proud smile. "You found it."

She grinned and preened a little. "I did."

"Well, don't keep us waiting." Neville said impatiently. "Start talking!"

"Well, it starts with the Founder of Hogwarts..."

This was the story of the Chamber. Hogwarts had been built by the four most powerful witches and wizards in the country as place of learning and refuge from persecution. For many, many years all was well. Students came, learned, and went out into the world and the four Founders saw what they had done and were convinced of the wonder they had created.

As time passed a secret festered in the heart of one Founder. Salazar Slytherin watched the world change and refused to change with it. He saw the dilution of the old bloodlines as a travesty, a crime against nature. When the other Founders refused to listen, he hatched a plan. He would secrete a portion of himself in a hidden Chamber somewhere in the school. In that Chamber he placed a method for cleansing the school of any and all of mixed bloodline. When the other Founders discovered what Slytherin had done, they exiled him from Hogwarts.

He took the secret of the Chamber's location with him. Legend said that only his chosen Heir would be able to open it and access the weapon with within. The years passed and nothing happened. The mysteries of the Heir and Chamber remained unsolved for so long they drifted into legend and myth. What was once fact became superstition.

Until fifty years ago. A student, a fifth year Ravenclaw girl whose name was never given, was found dead in a second floor girl's bathroom. She was the first to die, but the only one to be found. The at the time Headmaster, Armando Dippet, had been unable to find a culprit. The school was burned in the media, and a closure seemed all but inevitable. Then in the eleventh hour a Slytherin Prefect called Tom Riddle found the Heir and destroyed the weapon within.

The missing students were never found.

"Hermione," Harry said slowly. "The girl whose body they found, the only one they did..."

"What about her?"

"You don't think she stuck around, do you?"

Hermione gasped. "We need to go. Right now. We need to find a teacher."

"What?" Neville looked bewildered. "Why?"

"Because someone knows where the Chamber is."

"Who?"

"Myrtle."

* * *

_END CHAPTER FOUR _

**Note: I hope you liked my portrayal of Luna. Any detractors should read the description. It clearly says, 'AU'. I meant it. Anyways, the next chapter sees the end of Harry's second year and the resolution of the Chamber and the Heir. **

**Read, Enjoy. Review if you want to. You know I like them. **


	6. Hidden Mysteries, III

**Note: This chapter is the end of year two. I hope you enjoy what I've done with the mystery of the Chamber. I didn't want to do another basilisk. I mean, they're impressive, massive, lethal things. And one is killed by a 12 year old? I don't think so. I'll be saving the King of Serpents for later. I hope you like what I've done instead. **

_CHAPTER FIVE: HIDDEN MYSTERIES, cont'd_

* * *

"Are you serious, Ms. Granger?" The Scottish witch was sitting behind her desk, having heard the explanation that the three of them had come up with. She had a brow raised and doubt was evident.

Harry didn't blame her. On the way over Hermione had explained to them exactly who Myrtle was. He didn't blame McGonagall one bit for doubting them. The idea that the key to finding the missing students was a ghost that haunted the girl's room on the second floor was somewhat difficult to believe.

However, it wasn't like there were other solutions presenting themselves.

"I am, Profess-Headmistress." Hermione said. She gestured to the clippings and old book on the desk in front of her. "Although nothing is actually said about the Chamber or the Heir, the only thing that _is _clear that in 1954 Myrtle Mallory was found dead in the second floor girl's bathroom after having disappeared two weeks earlier."

"I see." McGonagall leaned back and tapped her chin. The gesture reminded Harry of Dumbledore so forcefully he almost looked around to see if the old wizard was there. "It would be irresponsible to not investigate. Come with me, please." Somewhat surprised, and not entirely pleased at being included, Harry followed with Neville and Hermione close behind.

Which was how they found themselves in an unused bathroom in the middle of the day, trying to find a ghost famous for not wanting to be seen. He couldn't help the shiver that went down his spine as they entered. It was the _girl's _bathroom! It was nothing like he expected a girl's bathroom to look. He wasn't entirely sure what one was supposed to look like, but it wasn't this.

This was a dank, dark, dirty washroom with leaky faucets and grimy mirrors. The stall doors had mold growing on them, and the single source of light; a small window almost on the ceiling, was smoky. The entire room was filled with motes of dust that drifted through the air.

Hermione sneezed. "Sorry," she whispered when Harry glared at her. He'd jumped a good three inches at the sound. He really didn't want to be here yet, at the same time he couldn't imagine himself anywhere else.

"Myrtle?" Professor McGonagall's soft, accented voice sounded flat in the air. "Can we talk to you?"

"What do you want?" the voice had a thicker brogue than any Harry had heard before, and came from nowhere. This then was Myrtle. He looked around for any sign of her. Then he

wanted to smack himself for being an idiot. She was ghost. Ghosts didn't show up unless they chose to.

Hermione answered. "We-that is, we wanted to ask you..."

"Ask me what? Out with it!"

"How...how you died." she finished timidly.

There was a sound not unlike paper tearing and a girl appeared hovering over the third stall from the wall. She was slim and had a handsome face. Thick glasses perched on her nose, under which bandages wrapped around her eyes. Most remarkably of all, Harry could see the window behind her, and the light shone through her. On her face was an expression of satisfaction mixed with sadness.

"It's happened again," Myrtle said. "you needn't explain, I know exactly why you're here; the Chamber has been opened, and girls are going missing. I've been waiting for this day for fifty years." she sighed deeply, an odd expression on a ghost. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." McGonagall answered, and the ghost launched into her tale.

* * *

After she was finished there was a long silence. Then Neville and McGonagall swore in stereo, Harry a second behind. Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. She frowned, then swore more colorfully than the other three had before her.

"Eloquent." Myrtle said drily. "Also, accurate."

Harry didn't know what to feel. It was too much all at once and he couldn't process it quickly enough. It was like getting hit by a dodgeball from behind. He knew something. He finally knew something, but the solving of another mystery yet again to only confusion and fear.

Myrtle's story had not been pleasant. She'd been on her way to class, nothing going on, when everything went black and she woke up alone in a chamber. That part was familiar enough for Harry to feel an uncomfortable sensation in his chest. Then from there the story only grew worse.

She hadn't known how long she'd been down there. There were no windows or clocks, and the only source of light were torches. She'd been down there so long, she said, that it was a toss up between what killed her: whoever had taken her or starvation. Then she'd been stunned from behind.

When Myrtle had come to again she was on a table. This room had been circular, with five recesses set in the wall. In all but one there was a body as still as stone. Their arms were folded over their chests and their eyes closed. They were the girls that had disappeared before her.

Then he had come.

Handsome, charming. Smart as a whip. Prefect of his house and rumored shoo-in for Head Boy. Tom Riddle entered the room with his hands covered in blood and a terrifying look on his face. Then, stroking her cheeks as if she were his lover, he'd told her everything: what he was doing, why.

How.

The weapon of Slytherin was not a snake. The Founder had felt it would be too obvious. Tom had agreed. Instead five homunculi had been created out of wood and stone and given a task: the purification of Hogwarts. Blood was the key, Tom had explained. He had needed the blood of five pureblood witches to key the homunculi.

Then things went wrong for Tom. Myrtle escaped her bonds and made a bid for freedom. During its course, a piercing curse cut her femoral artery and she'd had her eyes burned out by acid. She'd injured Tom badly enough that he'd been unable to finish the ritual. At the cost of her life, she'd saved the school.

And now, fifty years later, it was happening again.

"So how do we stop it?" Hermione asked.

"You don't." McGonagall answered.

"But-"

"No." the Scottish witch's tone brooked no argument. "There is no way on Earth or Heaven I'm allowing three underage students to be involved in this in any way. This is a matter for the professionals. I'm sure, Mr. Potter, that you are aware of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense?"

Harry started. "Weren't they the ones who were going to come get rid of the wraith before, well...I did?"

"Yes. This time, however, they will be here _before _everything goes wrong. I'll make sure of it. If I have to drag them here by their ears they _will _be here on time." McGonagall's voice and face made him very afraid for the people who wouldn't give her what she wanted. "I will not allow any more students to come to harm." she vowed.

Neville, over the course of the conversation, had drawn closer to Myrtle. "Myrtle?" the ghost looked down at him. "What are you going to do now? I mean, are you going to stay?"

She smiled sadly at him. "No. After I died I made the choice to come back so I could warn the school the next time the Chamber opened. I have fulfilled my purpose. I can rest now." she said the last part quietly, almost wistfully.

"Oh." Neville said, looking sad. Then, with solemn conviction. "Thank you, Myrtle Mallory. Rest in peace."

"Thank you, Neville." Myrtle smiled and began to fade. "Good luck. To all of you."

Her last words hung on the air long after she herself was gone.

Whoever was trying to perform the ritual now had four girls. They only needed one more. The only upside Harry could see was that Hermione was safe for the time being. He sighed and trooped back to the common room, ignoring the hissed speculation of his friends.

If what Myrtle had said was true, and the homunculi did activate, he didn't know that he could stop them. What he did know and promised to himself that the only way anyone else was getting hurt was over his body.

He didn't sleep that night. Nor did Hermione and Neville.

How could they sleep when they knew the destruction of the school could begin at any second?

* * *

The waiting was killing him. Everything had been rushing towards an answer. Towards an ending. And now that the mystery had been answered and the problem solved he was expecting...

Well, he was expecting _something _to happen.

And it wasn't.

As the days passed and the Christmas break drew nearer, Harry was starting to think that waiting might be worse than having it all happen at once. It'd be done with and over then. This waiting was driving him up the wall. He felt like he was going mad; he couldn't focus, his grades slipped. He lost weight. People noticed, but anyone but Hermione and Neville received nothing more than an "I'm fine." and no matter how much they pressed that's all they'd get.

Until the last day of November. Harry was, though he'd never admit it, hiding. He was hiding from everyone in the history section of the library. It had become a kind of sanctuary for him, even more than Gryffindor tower. There was no way anyone would think to find him here.

"Hello, Harry Potter." an airy voice said.

Well, he amended, no one normal.

He opened his eyes and saw Luna standing over him. The airiness in her voice did not translate to her eyes. They looked as worried as he felt.

"Hi," he sat up and shook out his hands. They tingled as feeling returned. He'd been using them as a pillow. She sat across from him and folded her legs underneath her. "Are you okay?"

She half smiled at him. "I should be asking you that question. You look terrible."

He snorted. "Thanks."

"It's true." she said quietly, twisting her fingers together. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer for a long time. "I'm not sure I want to tell you."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I'm honestly not sure if not knowing is worse than knowing." he confessed. She scooted across the aisle and re-settled next to him, then took his hand.

"How about," she said, cheeks slightly pink. "you let me decide?"

"Okay," he blew out a deep breath. "don't say I never warned you."

He told her everything. From Dumbledore to McGonagall to Myrtle and the incoming Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense. As he talked he felt lighter, and remembered what Petunia had told him about talking these things through. One day he would remember that his parents were smarter than they looked. Probably.

"So," she said after he was done. "homunculi."

"Yeah."

"And they need the blood of five pureblood witches to activate."

"Uh-huh."

"There's only one left."

"Yes."

"So what's the problem?"

Harry blinked. "You mean apart from nearly half the school being in danger of dying at any moment? Or that if these homunculuses wake up they'll kill everyone not pureblood in the school? Which is pretty much everyone. And I know it was stupid of Dumbledore to ask me to protect the school, but I can't help it. I want to. I feel like...I should, or something."

"Oh, Harry." she sighed. "You are a bit of an idiot, sometimes, you know that?"

He blinked again. "I am?"

"Only sometimes. Which is better than most; they're idiots all the time. What I mean is that you can't put all this on yourself. It's not fair to everyone else."

"How is it not fair? I'm trying to protect everyone else."

"How? By not eating or sleeping, and instead sitting in a musty old library and worrying yourself to death? It's not fair because there's all these people who want to help you and you're not letting them. You can't do this alone, and you aren't."

"I know," Harry looked at their joined hands, feeling his cheeks heat and yet not willing to remove his from hers. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"What about you? Don't you count?"

"I guess. I don't know. It just feels wrong."

"Well, it isn't." Luna said definitively. She disengaged their hands and stood. His hand felt colder for a minute. "Now, I'm hungry. I know you are, so don't bother lying to me. It would also be rude of you to let me walk to dinner alone."

"Well," Harry stood and smiled. "we can't have me being rude _and _a liar."

"That would be bad." Luna agreed. "So come on."

He went and laughed for what seemed like the first time in months.

* * *

The next morning Harry came down to the common room to find it packed with the entirety of Gryffindor. Professor McGonagall stood by the door with a scroll in hand and a somber look on her face. He looked around at everyone's faces. They looked how he'd been feeling before his talk with Luna. Hermione was clinging to Neville's arm with tears in her eyes. The bottom of his stomach fell out.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said. "There you are." she unrolled the scroll and touched it with her wand. She nodded to herself and rolled it back up. It vanished with a pop. "You should sit down."

"What's going on?" Harry allowed himself to be tugged into a seat. "What's happened."

"There's been another message from the Heir." McGonagall addressed the entire room, but she looked at him.

"What message?" a dark-skinned boy asked.

"It begins." McGonagall said gravely.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. For once he was faster in making the connection than Hermione. "Who's gone missing?"

"Luna Lovegood."

His hands started shaking. He felt his face heat and his eyes started hurting. The people around him gasped and moved away. He could see the air distorting around him. Neville's grip on him became painful. Strands of Hermione's hair tossed about. His power grew inside him until it he felt himself about to explode at the seams.

Harry closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. He forced all the anger, fear, and worry he was feeling into a ball. Then he forced that ball deep inside his chest. When he was done he felt...calm. Almost cold. "Professor," he said, far too calmly. "is the Bureau here yet?"

"Yes," she said, blinking. "they...arrived this morning. I showed them the bathroom and they said they'd be done by nightfall."

"Well," he felt tremors in his voice and forced it to smooth. Calm. He needed to be calm. "they're too late. Again." he shook Neville off and stood. "I'm going. Please don't try to stop me."

"I can't allow you to go, Mr. Potter."

He glared, eyes burning. "She's my friend. Professor."

She stared right back, unflinching, for a long minute. The rest of Gryffindor seemed fixated on the battle of wills taking place in front of them; McGonagall's iron will against Harry's burning eyes. Finally, she said, "You won't be going alone. I'm coming with you."

"Me-" Hermione started.

"Don't even think about it." Neville said. "We aren't going."

"But-"

"_No_."

"I want to help." she protested. Harry turned to her. His eyes still burned, but they softened a little when they rested on her.

"Then stay here." he said quietly. "Please."

She frowned, conflicted, for a long minute before nodding. "Okay."

He smiled tightly at her, then turned to McGonagall. "Let's go."

They left, and the quiet the pair of them created lasted for all of six seconds before chaos erupted.

* * *

The agents of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense looked, for all the mystery of the job, very ordinary. One of them even wore tweed. The others wore gray suits and carried burlap bags bulging with something Harry couldn't identify. The tweed guy seemed to be in charge, as he marched over.

"I'm Anthony Harris," he spoke with a slight North Irish accent. "we're just about to begin. Why are you here?"

They'd set up outside the second floor bathroom that, until recently, had been the home of the ghost of Myrtle Mallory. The idea of going back into that place, and the Chamber, sent shivers down Harry's spine. Then the ball in his chest shifted, and some of the emotion escaped. He remembered then.

He was worried before she'd vanished. Now, though, it was all he could think about. It was like his entire world had narrowed into a single train of thought. Find the Chamber, help Luna.

Then turn the Heir, whoever they were, inside out.

Harry was so angry it scared him. He was wrestling his emotions back under control and missed McGonagall's response to Mr. Harris' question. He did catch the man's reply.

"You must be joking. He's twelve!"

"He also killed the wraith you failed to last year." she snapped. "He's going with you. As am I. There will be no more discussion of this."

"We're wasting time," Harry said, speaking for the first time. "you can argue, but I'm going."

With that, he turned, dodged around the two gray suited agents, and entered the bathroom. McGonagall hurried after him, followed by Harris moments later.

* * *

This was weird. Very, very weird. Harry had entered the bathroom with every nerve tingling, only to find it looking the same. It was still dark and dank and dirty, and it still smelled like mildew. But there was something different. Something had changed. He could feel it. Tugging at the edge of his senses. It was pulling him towards something.

What could it be?

It was by the sinks. He went over and knelt in front of them, running his hands over the faucets, the drains, the ceramic bowl. Nothing out of the ordinary. Why did every instinct he had tell him otherwise? He looked again, ignoring the entrance of McGonagall and the rest behind him. "_Focus_." he whispered, and it was as if he were looking through a magnifying glass.

And there it was.

For all of Slytherin's vaunted disdain for snakes, he sure used them a lot. Etched into the bowl, just by the drain, was a curled snake, eating its own tail. Something weird surged in him at the sight. It wasn't like his power, this was something...scaly and dark.

"_Open_."

He jumped in shock as the entire sink started to move. The bowl drew back into the column. The spigot shrunk into the mirror, the grimy glass flowing like water around the dirty metal. The tiles on the floor drew back into a recess in the floor, leaving a gaping, dark chasm leading down.

"Mr. Potter..." McGonagall's voice had him turning. The four adults were staring at him, shock written all over their faces.

"What?"

Mr. Harris removed his round glasses and polished them on his vest. "It's been a long time since I met a snake-talker." he said. "last one was oh...fifty years ago, I suppose."

Harry looked from one adult to the other, confused. "Snake-talker? What?"

"You hissed." Mr. Harris said flatly. "You speak to snakes. There's another word for what it's called, but it's stupid and I don't like it. You're a snake-talker. Can we get this done? I have a dentist's appointment tomorrow?"

There was clearly more to being able to talk to snakes than it appeared to be on the surface. But it was also clear that there were bigger things going on. Things that were far more important to Harry than an ability he'd known he had for more than a year.

Luna, and four other girls were missing. They were going to be dead soon.

He took a deep breath and jumped into the hole.

* * *

And he thought Myrtle's bathroom was dirty. It, compared to this place, would have given Petunia a mild heart attack. The Chamber would kill her dead. She despised dirtiness, a quirk that, despite her best efforts, she'd failed to completely suppress. She'd had some success, though, seeing as he and Dudley were still alive.

This place was covered in filth. Centuries of bones, dirt, dust and God knew what else had created layers on the ground like layers of rock or sediment. His shoes squished as he stepped. He wasn't sure if he wanted to look down, or really see where he was going, but that choice was taken from him by Mr. Harris' muttered "_Lumos_."

What the light revealed was exactly what he'd feared. It looked like the Chamber also served as drainage for the lake. Fish skeletons lined the ground, and the odd half-decayed body scattered among the bones. It was a thoroughly unpleasant place, and the aura of decay punched through the armor of cold he'd built around his emotions. Fear, anger, worry, all of it smashed into him like a tidal wave. The force of it almost sent him to one knee, and he was suddenly sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn't supposed to be here.

"You alright lad?" one of the gray suits asked him. He took a deep breath and nodded, scrubbing under his eyes quickly.

"Yeah," he said, coughing past the lump in his throat. "yeah, I'm okay. Let's get this done."

The other gray suit chuckled. "Gryffindor indeed. You've got guts, lad, make no mistake. Best stay behind us for this bit."

Harry hung back with McGonagall, watching the three members of the Bureau move with cool efficiency through the muck. They didn't say a word, using hand signals or body language to communicate. The silence of the place was heavy, like the air. It pushed down on them, took their voices.

Streamers of light spun between his fingers. He clenched them into fists and they went out. They trembled. A warm hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up to see McGonagall try a reassuring smile on. It worked for her, and for him. He found himself calming.

They moved forward, advancing into the dark. Sconces dotted the walls. They were long without flame. How Harry got them in here gave him an idea. He thought about how that...something had felt, thought about the dry scaliness of it. Then he tried, "_Lights_."

McGonagall's startled look coupled with the torches springing into life told him he'd succeeded.

"_Nox_." Mr. Harris murmured, shooting Harry an appreciative look. The guttering flames, green of course, gave ample light to see by. He decided he didn't like using the snake-talk like this. It felt different to talking to snakes. Then it was just talking. This felt wrong. He wouldn't do it anymore.

They continued down the unending corridor. It didn't branch off, didn't curve. Just an endless straight line of lights and filth. Harry began to wonder if they were stuck in a loop. Like a recurring hallway. He was beginning to think they'd never find the missing girls when they came upon a door.

It was massive and circular, made of a metal that had long since grown over. Silver snakes, gleaming as if they were a day old, curled in a knot in the center of the door. Tracks went through the door's surface. The four of them came to a stop and waited for something to happen.

Harry began to fidget. They needed to keep moving. Lu-People were going to die! He was just opening his mouth to ask what they were waiting for when Mr. Harris gave him an impatient look.

"What are you waiting for, lad, an engraved invitation? Talk this door open!"

"Oh. Right." Harry turned bright red and forced himself to think dry and scaly. "_Open_."

The snakes set off, dragging with them silver locks set into the wall. After they were gone the door swung open without a sound. The Bureau agents entered, wands out. Harry stuck close to McGonagall, nerves on edge, and followed.

This had to be the Chamber proper. Its size alone would allow it to be nothing but. The ceiling reached so high he couldn't see it. Columns as thick around as trees rose into the shadowed rafters. A sunken circle, five foot in diameter, sat in the center. Hanging free of support in the center was a ball of flame that cast dancing light to the far corners of the room.

"God in Heaven." McGonagall breathed, and Harry could only nod dumbly.

The homunculi were massive. Fifteen feet tall if they were five, and human in shape. Their heads were crested helms, and their bodies resembled Roman armor he'd seen once in a museum. A luminous green glow pulsed in the center of their chests. The five of them stood stone still.

Harry's first coherent thought was, _how are they going to get out of here?_. His second was, _where are they?_.

A muffled scream answered his question. At the same time, in a tortured howl of moving metal, the homunculi began to move.

* * *

After that, several things happened at once.

Harris shouted, "Get the girls, lad!" and started firing powerful curses at the homunculi. His two gray suits followed suit. McGonagall started whipping her wand through complex gestures. Harry could feel the magic moving through the muck, drawing it together. He didn't have time to wonder what she was up to.

The scream came again, weaker and wetter. Harry zeroed in on the sound and drew as much power as he could stomach to himself. He raced towards it, seeing the edges of his world blur around him. He was across the entirety of the Chamber before he realized the power he'd drawn was speeding his movements.

He crashed into the door at full tilt and felt ribs crunch together nastily. Groaning in pain, he unleashed some power through his palms and the door exploded inwards. He stumbled through into a scene straight from Hell.

Lucius Malfoy held the limp body of a black haired girl over a cistern. Runnels led out of the circular room, under the wall. In the alcoves around the room the bodies of three girls stood, arms folded, eyes shut. He felt an incredible amount of guilt at the relief that shot through him when he saw that Luna was not among them.

"Welcome, Harry," Lucius said, smiling madly. Harry fought the urge to vomit. Lucius released the girl and she floated to a fourth alcove. Her arms crossed stiffly and her eyes shuttered closed. A thin red line, a second smile, went from ear to ear across her throat. "You're just in time."

Harry's reply was an explosion of golden light that decimated the entire room. When the dust settled, and the light faded, he expected to see nothing but fallen rock and scattered bodies. What he saw instead was a crouching Lucius Malfoy, a destroyed chamber, and the tired, bruised body of Luna Lovegood in his arms.

He saw red. "Let her go!" he snarled, power swirling around him like a storm. The ball he'd suppressed had broken loose. Stones rattled and rose to whirl around him like clouds. The runes on his face burned. Behind him he could hear massive collisions and shouted spells.

Lucius watched him, awe etched on aristocratic features. "Look at you!" he breathed. "You're magnificent! Truly a worthy opponent of my Lord!"

Lucius Malfoy, Harry decided, was quite mad. Insane beyond comprehension. And he had Luna.

What was he supposed to do? He felt paralyzed. If he stopped Lucius, he'd hurt Luna, and his instincts rebelled against that.

Lucius tutted. "Indecisive all of a sudden? You shouldn't, Harry. The costs can be high. Allow me to demonstrate."

Harry watched in horror as, quick as a snake, Lucius drew the edge of his wicked knife across Luna's throat. Her blood spilled, and Harry lost control of himself. Magic, raw magic, roared through him and he directed its flood at the hateful features of Lucius _fucking _Malfoy.

Someone was screaming. One word, over and over. "DIE!"

It was him.

The magic presented itself as a hurricane. It tore Luna from Lucius' grasp and picked him up into the eye. Then it ripped him apart. Limb from limb, piece by piece. Lucius Malfoy died in inches, and laughed the entire time.

Harry didn't see any of it. He slid across the blood slicked floor on his knees to Luna's side and pressed his hands to her gushing throat. A small part of his mind was screaming incoherently. He suppressed it with no small amount of ruthlessness.

_Save Luna. Save McGonagall. Freak out later_.

It became his mantra. He could feel Luna's heart beating under his hands. Her blood stained his skin red. Her pulse was slowing.

She was dying.

"No!" he snarled. "No! You're not dying, he's not winning!" he pulled power into his hands, hissed at the pain it caused on his face, and shouted. "_Heal!_"

The drain on him was tremendous. Tired as he was from the hurricane, this draw almost knocked him out. His vision grayed and he struggled to breathe. The cut on Luna's throat started healing and he wanted so desperately to stop the flow of magic. He couldn't, though. Not until she was safe.

It felt like years passed. Slow as an iceberg, she healed, leaving a thin, faded scar on the smooth skin of her throat.

"Come on," he begged, passing bloodied hands through her hair. "Wake up. Come on, Luna, wake up for me. Please!"

Luna coughed, and it was most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Her eyes fluttered open, bleary, and focused slowly on him.

"H-Harry?" her voice was hoarse, almost smoky. "Wh-what..."

"It's okay." he said, voice shaking. "You're okay. It's over."

A scream of pain came from the main room and reminded him that it wasn't over. He didn't want to leave her. Lucius might come back. He looked around for the man he hated more than anything in that moment and saw only pieces. _Good_, he thought savagely. _Good_.

"Harry..." Luna's voice, stronger now. More clear. He looked down to see her intent eyes. "Go. I'll be...here. Safe."

He didn't want to. God, he didn't want to. But they needed his help out there. He rose to his feet, groaning as dozens upon dozens of aches made themselves known. Harry took a deep breath, and walked back out into the Chamber proper.

* * *

He stopped for a moment. _That _was what McGonagall had been doing. Five massive constructs of mud and bone were battling the homunculi. The titans of magic exchanged massive blows that shook the stone walls. Neither did major damage, but the homunculi weren't leaving. The blasting curses of Harris and his men slid off them like water from a duck.

"Potter!" McGonagall shouted. "Get out of here! Go!"

She looked pale. Her wand hand was shaking. She looked terrible, though Harry was sure he looked far worse. He damn sure felt it.

He looked to the entrance, so close and tempting. He could run, and hide. But in the end it wouldn't matter. In the end the homunculi would break loose. When that happened...

It wouldn't. It couldn't.

Harry wouldn't let it.

"Keep going!" he shouted back. He started running towards the battling monsters, drawing power as he did. Harris ducked between one's legs and fired a curse at the pulsing glow in the center of its chest. The thing reeled and stomped down on the diminutive man. The hasty shield crumbled but held under the massive weight.

That one was the first to feel Harry's wrath. He emptied his power into a massive fist of golden energy that knocked the homunculi onto its back with an earth shaking boom. Harris was out for the count. The two gray suits dragged him away, flinging curses at the others as they did.

Harry scrambled onto the fallen thing as it struggled to stand. He danced up its body on the slick wood and rusted metal, reaching the pulsing center just as it was about to find its feet. He drew and focused, sharpening the energy into something long and powerful. Then he slammed it down into the chest.

Green light exploded out in a wave, knocking stones the size of Hagrid from the ceiling and blasting Harry across the Chamber, sending him towards the wall at high speed. He had time to shout "_Prote-_" before he slammed into the wall. He cratered it and fell to the ground.

Now he had broken his ribs. Most of them. He felt magic rushing to them, easing his pain enough to stand but not enough to shout. "The chest!" he rasped, seeing the two gray suits looking at him. "Hit the chest!"

McGonagall must have heard him, because the next thing he knew two of her earth colossi grabbed a homunculus before a third rammed its arm through the homunculi's chest. The resulting explosion destroyed the arms of the two holding it and severely damaged the third.

_Two down_, Harry thought. _Three to go_.

Those three had decided they had enough of messing about. Two of them sandwiched a gray suit between them and crushed him in their fists. He crumpled to the ground, limp and unconscious. Harry slashed his hand and a blade of golden fire cut a metal leg off at the knee. He watched tiredly as that one fell into the other two and sent them all to the ground with an apocalyptic rumble.

Harry limped over to McGonagall. She looked like she was barely staying upright, but she held the spell. Her remaining two colossi, losing their coherency around the edges, began pummeling the tangled homunculi.

"Harry," she groaned. "Get...out...here...find...Dumbledore."

"No." Harry's reply was tired but resolute. "I'm not leaving you."

"Idiot...boy." she glared tiredly at him. An almighty crash tore his attention away from her to see her conjurations collapse. The mud splashed over them from the knees down and almost knocked McGonagall over. She steadied herself against Harry and then sagged on a nearby ruined column.

The homunculi finally sorted themselves out and stood. Making their way towards Harry, who could barely stand, and the last gray suit, who didn't look much better.

"What's your name?" the gray suit asked.

"Harry."

"Michael."

"I would say it's a pleasure, but..."

"I know."

"You ready?"

Harry sighed deeply. "Yeah. Let's get this done."

* * *

It was rather considerate of Slytherin to make the Chamber floor so comfortable. Harry wondered if he'd done that on purpose or if it was all the mud. He squinted at it, very close to his nose, and wondered why only one of his eyes seemed to be working. What happened? He remembered a fight, a huge fight, and giant monsters made of metal.

And now he was here. How had he gotten here?

Wait, he hadn't left.

So why couldn't he stand up? And where were the monsters?

Harry tried to move and immediately wished he hadn't. Agony wasn't strong enough to describe the pain he felt when he tried to get his tortured body to move. The best he could manage was rolling onto his back. After a minute the stuff on his eye that kept it from closing slid off and he blinked it open.

Huh.

Didn't the Chamber have a ceiling? He distinctly remembered a ceiling. He was pretty sure it hadn't involved stars, too

"Harry!" someone shouted, but he was more focused on figuring out how the night sky had ended up underground. "Haaaarrryyy!"

Maybe he should answer them. He breathed in enough to shout, felt lances of pain around his ribs, and let it out in a whoosh. He was stuck, could barely breathe, and the stars were underground. This was not good.

The immediate problem was making sure whoever was looking for him found him. He couldn't shout, and moving was right out. What about magic? He could do magic. So he frowned, trying to focus through the fog bank inhabiting his mind. He felt the draw, magic moving sluggishly through him and where he wanted it. It took much more effort than it should have to whisper "_Light_."

"There!" the someone shouted. "There he is! Albus, Poppy, over here!"

A clatter of rocks from beyond his current vision. Someone hissed a curse. They were close enough now for him to know it was a woman. Then he felt hands running over his body, and more curses. The woman, whoever she was, sounded as displeased about his condition as he felt. Her face swam into view and she looked...very familiar. Harry was pretty sure he knew her. He just couldn't figure out from where.

"It's going to be okay, Harry," she said, and he was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "You're going to be fine. Rest now, son."

It seemed like a good enough idea, he supposed. So he followed her advice, closed his eyes. The last thing he remembered was her worried, "you'll be okay." following him into unconsciousness.

* * *

Harry woke up with a much clearer head. He could remember now. Michael and he had decided that they did not stand a chance against three-well, two- homunculi. Their plan, then, was to collapse the ceiling on them. It had worked once, so why not?, had been Harry's thinking. So he'd pulled enough power to set his brain on fire and used it to pull the ceiling down on top of them, then used the rest to shield him, Michael, and McGonagall.

Talking of which, where were they? He looked around, much as he was able. He was in the hospital. No surprise. There were three beds with privacy curtains further in. Petunia was asleep on a sofa next to his bed. To his further surprise, her head was pillowed on Vernon's thigh. He too was asleep. His mustache fluttered as he snored. Petunia stirred, some instinct telling her that Harry was now awake.

She saw him. Her eyes shone, and she very carefully pulled him into her arms and broke into tears. His own eyes filled and spilled over. It was over. He was safe, Luna was safe, the homunculi were destroyed.

And he'd killed a man.

Again.

He cried just as hard as Petunia, barely feeling a second pair of arms come around him. He clutched his mother all the tighter and cried until he fell back asleep.

* * *

Harry wasn't allowed to leave the hospital for a week. During that time it seemed he received every single student, teacher, or house elf as a visitor at some point or another. As a rather pale McGonagall had put it, what had gone on in the Chamber was a complete secret. So naturally, everyone and their mother knew.

Hermione was absolutely disgusted at the amount of sweets he received. Even more so at how much he ate.

He hadn't seen much of his parents since he woke up that first time. They'd been busy doing..something. He wasn't sure what, though he imagined they were having another row with Dumbledore or McGonagall or whoever was in charge now. He didn't mind. He kind of liked how much they were willing to fight for him.

_Still_, he thought as he limped his way to breakfast_, at least I still have all my limbs_. No new scars, no missing digits. He'd gotten off easy this time. Next time, he wasn't sure he'd be so lucky.

As much as he didn't want there to be a next time, he was sure there was going to be. As he entered the Great Hall he noticed two things. First, everyone stopped talking. Second, where the school banners would normally be hung black shrouds.

And that was another thing.

Four girls had died. A fifth almost had. She was coming up to him now, the only person out of hundreds to move. She stopped in front of him, and his heart wrenched at the sight of the scar on her throat. Then she smiled, hugged him, and stepped back.

Then she started clapping.

The sound moved like oncoming rain, starting at her and moving its way to the back of the Great Hall. Through blurry eyes he saw Dumbledore applauding softly from his place at the head of the table, a proud smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes.

They were clapping. For him. They knew what had happened down there. They knew he'd killed man, the father of a boy in this very room. And they were applauding him. Then he realized that wasn't why. He'd saved them. Again. Once more he'd, by circumstance or purpose, found himself facing a threat to the school head on and winning.

He let his tears fall and Luna lead him to his seat. He felt Hermione and Neville hug him. At the head table Dumbledore stood, and the applause stopped. Harry wiped his eyes and waited. Before long the old wizard spoke, and his voice was clear and strong.

"Today is a day of both sadness and joy. Today we mourn the loss of four brilliant, beautiful young witches. We mourn their deaths, and those of Anthony Harris, Michael Swift, and Eric Jones. These men gave their lives for us, and we honor their sacrifice." he raised his goblet and the Hall followed suit. "Remember them."

They all drank.

"And now," he continued. "we turn to joy. For as much as we mourn their deaths, their lives are what should touch us more. These spectacular people changed our lives just by being in them. When we remember them, remember their smile, or their laughter. Remember the happiness they brought you, and you will serve their memory well.

"Harry Potter, please stand."

Bewildered, Harry stood.

"You have shown time and again bravery beyond and above anything I have ever seen. For someone you barely knew you leaped headlong into danger without knowing you'd return. For that, and for everything else, I salute you. For your courage, your heart, your willingness to protect, I salute you." he raised his goblet again.

"To Harry."

* * *

_END CHAPTER FIVE_

**Note: I know it's a weird place to end a chapter, but it just wasn't stopping. Like I said above, I hope I did justice to Slytherin's secret weapon and all that. I know some of you were hoping for more Harry/Luna interaction, and they got it. Maybe not as much as they wanted, but they got it. This is also the longest chapter I've ever written. So...yeah.**

**Anyway, next is year three. **


	7. Ghosts of Men

**Note: Got my first truly negative review. To my lack of surprise the reviewer was a guest. People, if you don't like my story, that's fair. Go ahead and tell me why. But have the courage to tell me who you are. I was only mostly joking about the assassins. **

**Apart from that, you lot continue to make my day. So thanks for that. **

**Let's move on to why you're actually here: the story.**

_CHAPTER SIX: GHOSTS OF MEN_

* * *

Harry sat squirming on the expensive leather sofa. He was doing his best to avoid the other occupant of the tastefully decorated office; a well dressed woman with a notepad balanced on her knee. Why had he agreed to come here again?

"Harry, you were going to tell me about your nightmares."

Oh yes. That was why. After he'd collapsed the Chamber in on itself and destroyed Slytherin's legacy at Hogwarts forever, a familiar and entirely unwelcome occurrence had returned. He'd started dreaming of the Chamber, specifically of a smaller room in it. With four dead girls bled dry inside, and a blonde haired madman with a knife. In his dreams he wasn't fast enough. He was so paralyzed that he could only watch as Luna bled to death in front of him.

This time talking it out with Petunia wasn't enough. And so, two weeks into summer vacation, his parents had scheduled him an appointment with a counselor. One who was, to use Dudley's phrase, "in the know."

Which was how he found himself here, in the office of Sarah Thompson, psychologist. She was a distant relative of Professor Sprout and well aware of the nature of Hogwarts. Even so, Harry could tell she was surprised. Also somewhat skeptical. He didn't blame her. It was somewhat difficult to believe.

"Harry?" she gently prompted him, drawing him from his thoughts.

He started and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, what?"

"Your nightmares. You were going to tell me about them."

"Oh. Right. Um...I don't know where to start."

"Wherever you want."

Good advice. Trouble was, he didn't know that either. He bit his lip and thought. The seconds stretched into minutes before he made his decision. "Well, I guess it really started before I can remember. When I was a baby I had nightmares about watching my mum-my birth mum, not Petunia- getting killed..."

Sarah listened attentively, nodding whenever appropriate and asking prompting questions whenever it seemed Harry would stop talking. He left her office feeling not exactly better, but it was a start. Before he left she'd told him that the nightmares were okay. They were his mind's way of dealing with the trauma.

It made sense, but he wasn't sure if she was right. It was nice to think so, though.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore looked a the repair estimates for Hogwarts, freshly delivered by the castle's head elf. The figure at the bottom, while not insignificant, wouldn't strain the school budget. By itself, at any rate. Coupled with the costs for the reconstruction of the southern tower and there wasn't enough left for him to hire the Defense professor he wanted. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

He'd have to contact an old friend and see if he was interested. It had been some years since they'd last spoken. He hoped the years had treated the old wolf well, but he doubted it. The condition didn't lend itself to good health or long life. It was one of his many regrets that he hadn't done more to help in the days following the end of the war.

Albus couldn't have, though. There had been so much to do. Holding three positions, important ones, was easy if you didn't care about doing them well. He was. It was easier when he was younger. He'd had more energy then. Now he was feeling the strain. If only there was someone he trusted enough to take over one for him. Maybe he'd talk to Augusta Longbottom.

The sound of the fireplace roaring into life drew him out of his ruminations. The flames swirled green and a voice he'd come to hate said, "Albus, are you there?"

He swallowed the dislike he'd built up for the man and put on a pleasant face as he knelt on the cushion in front of the flames. "Cornelius, what news from the Ministry today? Good things, I hope."

The Minister of Magic's face looked grim. It didn't quite fit. As if the man weren't used to bearing the expression. "I'm afraid not. May I come through?"

"Please." Albus rose and stepped back. Moments later the flames began to spin, and soon dispensed a portly man onto the Headmaster's floor. Cornelius stood, brushed off his robes, and offered Albus his hand.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Albus. I wish I could have given you more warning, but it's all hands on deck trying to stay ahead of the press."

Albus shook the Minister's hand and directed him into the seat across from his desk, in front of which he then sat. The old wizards steepled his fingers and looked over them at a fidgeting Cornelius. "What's happened, Cornelius?"

"There's been a breakout from Azkaban. More than a dozen prisoners. Sirius Black was one of them."

This was a problem. Albus directed his full attention on the somewhat pale Minister. "Tell me everything." he said. Cornelius sighed and began to talk.

* * *

There was something peaceful about a garden. Maybe it was the barely restrained chaos of the flowers straining at the edges of their planters. Or it was the earthy smell of fertilizer baking in the sun. Harry's favorite, though, was the feeling of a cool breeze on the back of his neck.

Or maybe it was because it was so crammed full of life that it made death harder to fathom. Either way, Petunia's garden had quickly become one of his favorite places to be at Privet Drive. Working in it, caring for it, had become a sort of therapy for him. Sarah had suggested he try something completely unrelated to magic.

The trouble was, Harry had a bit of a brown thumb. Most everything he planted withered within days.

So he cheated.

"_Grow_." he whispered to a failing rosebush, watching the browning leaves flush with new green and the drooping flower petals blush a pale pink. The earth beneath it wriggled as the roots strengthened its hold on the ground. The rosebush nearly glowed, drinking in the sun. He grinned, proud, happy, and sweaty. Also thirsty.

So he went to get a drink from the kitchen. He sighed in relief as the cool air washed over him when he walked through the back door. "I'm back!" he shouted.

"Great! Nobody cares!" Dudley's reply came from the sitting room. Harry could hear muted gun blasts and assumed his brother was introducing aliens or zombies or Nazis to the business end of a digital machine gun.

"Thanks, Dud!" Harry yelled cheerily, trotting into the kitchen. An owl was perched on the sink, looking around with owlish interest. A letter was tied to its leg. The sight made him slide to a sock-footed halt in front of the table Petunia sometimes had a late night cup at. "What are you doing here during the day?"

The owl replied by sticking out its leg.

"Fine," he grumbled. "don't answer." he took the letter, expecting either the plain envelope of his friends or the official Hogwarts letterhead. What he got instead was something he'd never seen before outside of textbooks; the seal of the Ministry of Magic. Filled with a sudden apprehension, he set the letter on the table. Then he let the owl free and went into the sitting room.

"What's up, Harry?" Dudley didn't look away from the television.

"Nothing." Harry replied. "I'm in my room if mum or dad ask, okay?"

"Sure thing." the invisible Marine as controlled by Dudley let out a guttering cry and the screen went black. "What? No! I was so close! What killed me?"

Harry went upstairs, followed by his brother's protests the entire way. He flopped onto his bed and looked at the ceiling. Hedwig hooted softly from her perch on his closet door.

"No, I don't know why." he confessed.

Hoot.

"Yes, I'll open it later."

Bark.

"Why would I lie?"

Hoot.

"Yeah, but this isn't homework. It could be important."

Silence.

"I guess I don't want to open it alone. I'll wait for mum or dad to get home."

Hoot.

"Thanks for listening, Hedwig."

Hedwig preened.

* * *

About an hour later there was a knock at the door. Harry looked up from trying to stuff all of his dirty clothes in his hamper. "Who is it?"

"It's me." Petunia stuck her head through the door. The rest of her followed, and he focused on the envelope in her hand. She followed his eyes. "It's addressed to you." she offered it to him.

"I know." he took it and turned it over in his hands. "I was just kind of hoping you'd stay with me while I open it."

"Of course." she sat on his bed and looked patiently at him. He took a deep breath and broke the seal. Inside was a folded piece of parchment, which he opened and then read aloud.

_Dear Mr. Potter, Harry J. _

_The Ministry of Magic issued at 10:45 this morning a Warning to the State. Two days previously a mass breakout occurred at the prison facility known as Azkaban. The public is well aware of the nature of people held there, and extreme caution is advised. If any of the following individuals are spotted, report them to an Auror or law enforcement officer immediately. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO APPROACH OR ENGAGE THESE PEOPLE. They are highly dangerous and fully capable and guilty of murder. _

_For wizards and witches living in predominantly Muggle areas, any sightings should be reported to Muggle law enforcement. The Minister has warned the Muggle Prime Minister about the dangerous nature and an All Posts Bulletin has been issued. _

_Be on the lookout for the following people: _

_Bellatrix Lestrange_

_Oskar Travers_

_Evard Nott_

_Alecto Carrow_

_John Finch_

_Rodolphus Lestrange_

_Rabastan Lestrange_

_Bartemius Crouch, Jr. _

_Bartemius Crouch, Sr. _

_Sirius Black _

_To repeat, do not attempt to engage or subdue these individuals. _

_Yours Sincerely, _

_Amelia Bones_

_Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

There was a long silence before either of them spoke. Harry took an extra long time returning the letter to its envelope. It was a measure of the depth of their thoughts that neither of them seemed surprised that the missive then vanished in a flash of light.

Harry broke the silence. "I knew it was bad news. I just knew it." then he sighed. "I'm never going to have a normal year at Hogwarts, am I?"

He stood and went to sit next to Petunia. She wrapped him in a one-armed hug and said nothing. Then, "I don't think Hogwarts is capable of having a normal year."

He laughed. "Good point. Hey, is dad downstairs?"

Petunia frowned at the sudden change in subject. "Yes, he's making dinner. Why?"

After he gulped at the idea of braving one of his dad's dinners, he answered. "I just wanted to ask him something. I'll do it after dinner."

She gave him a searching, mum like look. "Are you sure? He won't mind, you know."

He nodded. "I do. It's not really important."

She nodded. "Fair enough."

He got the feeling she didn't believe him, but was willing to let it go for now. If the talk with Vernon went the way he hoped it would, she'd know soon enough.

Hopefully, she'd let him do it.

* * *

"Hey, dad?"

"What is it, son?"

"I...wanted to ask you something."

Vernon laughed. "No time like the present."

"Do you think you can teach me how to box?"

"Yeah, I could. But why?"

"I want to learn."

"Obviously," Vernon snorted. "what I meant was why do you want to learn."

"Oh. Um...I just do?"

"Nice try. The real reason."

Harry waited long and thought hard about his response. "I'm a wizard."

Vernon rolled his hand, a gesture to elaborate.

"All I do is magic. It's like my entire life revolves around this thing, and it's so far been more bad than good. I just...I want something that doesn't have to do with magic."

"Oh. Well, it's about time."

"What?"

"Son, you've been all wizard, all the time, for two years. It'd be enough for anyone. I've been waiting for something like this. Although, I was sort of hoping it would be a sport or musical instrument, but...I'll call my old coach, see if he knows anyone who teaches nearby."

Harry's grin lit the room, somewhat literally, as he tackled his dad in a hug. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!"

He relished the feeling of being hugged by his dad.

"Have you asked your mother?"

Harry blanched. "I was hoping you would."

Vernon shook his head, grinning. "Not a chance."

"Damn."

"That'll be a pound."

"Sorry, dad!"

* * *

It took a good hour of arguing, but eventually Petunia caved. Which was how Harry found himself in Adam Jones' Gym one week later, wearing loose clothing and wondering if this was maybe the best idea. The center of the one room former warehouse was a boxing ring. Seven foot mirrors lined the walls, and exercise equipment scattered about.

The causes of his doubt were circling each other in the ring, fists wrapped in some kind of gauze, bouncing on the balls of their feet and swiping at each other. Then they'd blur together and separate, and each one would be sporting a new bruise or cut. The sight was intriguing, and he wanted to try it, but it also scared him.

"You must be Vernon's kid."

The voice made him turn and look up, but not as far as he was expecting to. Harry was small for his age, and wiry, so most adults were much taller than him. Adam, for it could be no one else, wasn't much taller than him. In fact, change the hair and eye color and add thirty years, and he could be Harry.

"Yeah." Harry offered his hand. "I'm Harry."

"Adam." Adam shook, and he felt the strength in the man's grip. "So Vernon says you want to train."

Harry nodded.

Adam gestured to the ring, where the fighters within had closed in on each other and were now using elbows and knees to batter each other into oblivion. "You sure?"

Harry nodded again, decisively. "Positive."

Adam's grin was near-feral. "Then let's get started!"

* * *

So Harry spent the next two months bruised, sore, and tired. It was weeks before he saw any improvement in himself. It was only when Dudley knocked the salt shaker off the dinner table that he noticed any difference in himself. Before anyone could register that it had happened, Harry's hand had blurred and he'd snatched it out of the air.

"Whoa." his brother had been suitably impressed. Then he'd turned to Vernon. "Dad, can I do boxing, too?"

Vernon had groaned at the look on his wife's face. Harry laughed.

Two weeks before the end of summer he got a visitor. One that, in a million years, he'd never have guessed. It was the Tuesday before he left for King's Cross, and he was out in the garden cheating some gardenias into life when Petunia stuck her head out the back door and yelled, "Harry! Someone's here to see you!"

"Okay!" he shouted back. Then he stuffed his gloves into his back pocket, put the tools he hadn't used(all of them) back in the shed, and went to the back door. Just in time he remembered to take his dirty shoes off and set them by the door. Once inside he tossed the gloves into the wash. "Mum, who's here?"

She didn't answer. Harry headed for the sitting room. Sitting in the easy chair, with a grin on her face, was Petunia. She had a lot of grins. He didn't like this one. This one said, _I know something you don't_, and it drove him mad on birthdays and early mornings. Then he entered the sitting room proper and saw why.

Sitting on his sitting room sofa, thoroughly engrossed in one of Dudley's comic books, wearing his usual garish attire, was Albus Dumbledore.

Harry goggled. Then he grinned. "It's a good one, sir."

"Harry!" Dumbledore smiled, placing the torn index card bookmark on his page and closing the book. "Have a seat! I quite agree. I've always enjoyed comic books."

He decided not to think about why his Headmaster, the man he respected more than anyone but his parents, enjoyed comic books and sat across the couch from him. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, sir, but..."

"You want to know why I'm here." Dumbledore finished for him.

"I'm curious as well." Petunia said.

"Well," Dumbledore settled back in the couch and folded his hands in a manner Harry was very familiar with. "my visit today has two purposes. The first of which is to check on you, Harry."

"Me, sir?"

"Yes. You've had, to understate in the extreme, an interesting two years at Hogwarts. I thought I'd come by and see how you're handling it."

Harry sighed through his nose and pulled his legs underneath him. He looked at Petunia, who nodded at him. She wanted him to do this. Great. "At first, not great. I was having a lot of nightmares and I didn't sleep much. Then..."

"You saw Sarah, dear."

"Sarah?" Dumbledore had a look of interest on his face.

"My therapist." Harry supplied.

"Sarah Thompson."

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, one of Pomona's relatives. Excellent! And has she helped?"

"Yes, loads, sir." Harry had to smile. "She helped me work through everything."

"I see." Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Your mother says you've taken up boxing?"

He nodded. "I did."

"Well, what's that like?"

Harry got the feeling that Dumbledore during the summer was an entirely different person to the one at school. He liked this Dumbledore, but was more curious about why else the old wizard was here.

"Albus," Petunia stopped him before could interrogate her son on what her husband called 'the noble art'. "do you think we could table talking about boxing and move on to why else you're here?"

"Ah, yes. Unfortunately, the other reason for my visit is not as pleasant." Dumbledore managed to look both grave and irritated. "Harry, how aware are you of our legal system?"

"Um..." Harry cast his thoughts back. "I got a letter from someone named Amelia Bones last month. Something about escaped prisoners?"

"Yes." All traces of irritation had faded from Dumbledore's lined face. "My news has direct correlation to that, I'm afraid. You see, the Minister for Magic has reason to believe that you are at risk from one or more of the escapees."

"More?" He was having trouble with the idea that just one was after him, but all? "How many more?"

The old wizard waved the question away. "Never mind that, Harry. As a result of this, and the breakout in general, the Minister has decided to protect Hogwarts by placing," and here Dumbledore's face twisted with disdain. "_Dementors_ at the school."

"Okay," Out of the corner of his eye he saw Petunia stiffen and pale. "what's a Dementor, then?"

* * *

Harry was up in his room. The blank piece of parchment in front of him was waiting for him put words to it. His friends had written him at least a week ago, but he hadn't gotten around to replying to them. Now that he had the time and inclination to do so, he found he couldn't make the words come.

He couldn't stop thinking about Dementors. Dumbledore had explained what they were, why they existed, and pretty much anything anyone could eve want to know about them. When he was done Harry wished he hadn't asked. They sounded, in a word, terrifying.

"_Dementors, Harry," Dumbledore polished his glasses on his sleeves and returned them to his crooked nose. "are constructs of magic. Our magic. They are the creation of one wizard, long since dead, to guard his island fortress from invaders. Their creation is a process I won't tell you, for I wish I didn't know and have no desire to pass on, but their characteristics are clear:_

"_They look like wolves made of shadows. Their eyes glow red and their teeth are massive and venomous. There is no cure for their bite. They exude an aura of utter dread, and anyone caught in it has no choice but to relive their worst memories. The Dementors of Azkaban are creations of pure evil, but the Minister has seen fit to convert the island to a prison, and uses them as his guards._

"_They are why I came to warn you, Harry. You have seen far worse things than most. The Dementors will affect you stronger than anyone else. I will not allow them onto the grounds, but they are notoriously violent and prone to action. Be careful. Be watchful. They will seek you out, for your dark past as well as your power."_

Not for the first time he regretted ever having this...gift. Harry put the letters aside for the moment and went to wash up for dinner. He made sure to use the hottest water he could stand. Condensation fogged up the mirror, which he was fine with. He didn't want to see what it would show him.

Golden eyes, surrounded by runes. They spread out to his temples, over his ears, and down the back of his neck. They were also creeping down his cheeks towards his jawbones and up towards his forehead. He wiped the fog from the mirror and ran a damp hand over the indents in his skin.

Harry sighed. As if he needed something else to make him stand out.

"Oy! Dinner!" Dudley bellowed up the stairs. Harry laughed at the muted scolding Petunia gave him as he came down the stair, wiping his hands on his jeans. He sat at the table with his family and enjoyed one of his last meals with them. In three days he went back to Hogwarts. He was both dreading and anticipating it.

At least this year he knew for sure someone was trying to kill him.

Kind of scary how that didn't bother him as much as it used to.

* * *

"Harry!"

A familiar blur slammed into him and did its level best to crush his ribs into dust. They overbalanced and smacked into his trolley, almost sending all three to the ground. Hedwig squawked indignantly at the commotion.

"Her-Hermione...air..." he gasped.

"Let him breathe, Hermione." Neville grinned at them, coming up to help Harry pry her arms off him.

He gasped as air returned to his lungs. Hermione gave him a reproachful look. "Honestly, my hugs aren't that bad."

"They're lethal." he assured her, leading them through the barrier.

"They are not! Neville, tell him they're not bad!"

"Sorry," though he didn't sound it. "but your hugs should be outlawed. They're dangerous. I thought I cracked a rib last week."

"You're just being dramatic." she told them both. Harry filed away that they'd met up a week earlier without him. He half listened to their cheerful banter as he took in the platform. From what he saw, their scene was the exception, not the rule. People were looking-for lack of a better word- grim. Parents held kids close, and moved almost fearfully between the fireplaces and the train. Some of them even looked at the shadows like they expected Dementors to leap out at any second.

"What's happened?" Hermione asked.

"You mean you didn't get the letter?" Neville looked askance at her.

"What letter? We spent the summer in France, remember?"

"Oh," he rubbed his chin. "right."

"You went to France? You didn't tell me that." Harry said.

"I did. I told you when I wrote you last."

"Ah." Harry scratched his arm. "I forgot."

She grinned. "Figured as much. Now, let's find an empty compartment, shall we? I don't want to end up by the engine again. Could barely hear myself think, it was so loud."

"You never stop thinking, though." Neville informed her as Harry led them onto the train.

"Man's got a point." he tossed over his shoulder. "You never seem to switch off."

"I'll have you know that..." she worried her lip for a minute before conceding. "you might have a point."

Neville and Harry laughed.

* * *

The whistle blew and the Express started chugging out of the station. To Hermione's pleasure, they hadn't been forced into a compartment by the engine. Instead they ended up towards the back, looking into doors to find one empty or mostly so.

"Here's one." Harry pointed. Inside there was a familiar head of dirty blonde hair. She had a folded newspaper on her lap and was nibbling on the end of a pen. A look of intense concentration was on her face. He budged open the door and stuck his head through. "Hey, Luna, mind if we join you?"

She blinked and looked up at him. His stomach tightened when he saw the fine scar on her throat. Her happy smile loosened it up. "Not at all! I was just solving this week's puzzle. I'd love some company."

"Brilliant."

And so the three of them hustled their trunks into the compartment and fussed about trying to find a seat. Neville and Hermione did, that is. Harry sat next to Luna and watched with a wide grin as they faffed around trying to sit next to each other without making it look purposeful.

"Good summer?" he asked Luna.

"Yes! I went to Sweden with my Dad. He loves it up there, says the cold air keeps him honest. I don't like it so much, the cold," she shivered. "but the skiing is fun."

"Oh, you ski?" Hermione asked, picking up the conversation's tail end.

Luna nodded.

"I've been at it for a few years now. Do you do alpine or nordic?"

The two girls then commenced talking about skiing. The conversation quickly surpassed Harry's knowledge of the sport; not much, so he paid them half a mind while turning to Neville.

"So."

"So."

"Good summer?"

"Pretty good."

"Any new plants to name?"

"Not this time."

Harry grinned again. "So, why'd you go see Hermione?"

Neville turned bright red and started stammering. Harry laughed. The red faced boy slugged his shoulder.

"You prat." he rubbed his knuckles. "Ow. When did punching you start hurting?"

Luna blinked into their conversation. "It didn't always?"

Neville shrugged. "Well, yeah. But, have you been working out?"

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah. Took some boxing lessons over the summer."

"Boxing? That's a barbaric sport, Harry. Why would you want to do that?"

Harry shrugged at Hermione, who had an outraged look on her face. "Fun? I dunno. My dad boxed his way through college. So I thought I'd give it a go."

"Yeah, but you could have been seriously hurt. I've read all about Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy and other head injuries that..."

Luna leaned in close and muttered, "Did you have fun?"

Harry blinked at her. "Yeah."

She shrugged and, for some reason, leaned her head against his shoulder. "Good enough for me."

Across from them, a passionate Hermione was explaining all about the different horrors of traumatic brain wounds to Neville, who was nodding and making agreeable noises when she paused for breath. Harry watched them for a few minutes before Luna asked, "Do you think she realizes he's not really listening?"

"Probably not. She may not care."

"I see."

Then she wouldn't tell him what she meant by that. No matter how many different ways he asked. It irritated him to no end.

* * *

All was going well until the train jerked to a halt far before they were due at Hogwarts. That, coupled with the complete and total failure of the onboard lights, served to make Harry's hackles rise.

"What's going on?" Hermione looked up from Neville's essay.

"We haven't broken down." Neville looked out the window. "We can't. Something's going on."

"Of course." Harry laughed humorlessly. "How it could be anything else?"

The train shook, and Luna clamped her hand onto his. He gave hers a squeeze and tried a reassuring smile. Before he could find out if he was successful, he noticed something.

Something he didn't like, but was well familiar with.

Dread.

Cold, ruthless dread curling around his heart. His mind flashed back to the conversation he'd had last week and the runes on his face took up a glow. Mist escaped from his eyes and curled around his hands. Luna stopped shivering, but he barely noticed.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, tentative. "What's wrong?"

Harry's answer came in a low hiss. His breath misted in the air. "Dementor."

Neville paled, hissed urgently in Hermione's ear. She paled. Luna's grip on his hand became almost painful, and she huddled close to him. In her other hand she clenched her wand. The other occupants of the car, sans Harry, soon did the same.

"What do we do?" Neville whispered. The air grew colder, the shadows longer. "Harry, what do we do?"

"_Light._" Harry replied, and a small sun bloomed in the center of the compartment. The feeling of dread lessened somewhat, and the merrily dancing flames warmed them. He shook his hand free and went to the door, placing his palm flat against the glass. Harry pushed his magic into it, imagining the glass and wood a brick wall that nothing could get through. The door shimmered momentarily.

Panting, he sat and wiped sweat from his brow. He waved his hand and the sun shrunk, lessening the light and the heat.

"Are you okay?" A soft question, a hand on his shoulder. He looked to see Hermione's concerned face. He looked from her to Neville to Luna. They all looked worried. Scared and worried.

"Yeah." he rasped. Then he swallowed and tried again. "I'm fine. Just took more out of me than I was expecting. We should uh, we should stay in here until the train starts moving again."

Nobody argued. They sat, watching the glass window slowly freeze over, huddled together for comfort more than warmth. Outside he could see shapes, vague outlines that darted between shadows. _Dumbledore was right_, he thought vaguely,_ they do look like wolves._

It was a tense half hour before the lights returned and the train started moving. When it did Harry wanted to weep with relief. Every muscle in his jaw ached. He didn't even know he'd been clenching it.

The rest of the ride passed without incident.

Of course, the peace didn't last.

In fact, he made it to the Entrance Hall before it started.

* * *

"Potter!"

Harry tensed. He knew that voice. He'd been dreading this since the day in the Chamber. He stopped just outside the Great Hall. The feast had just ended and they were on the way up to bed when someone had shouted at him.

"Harry?" Hermione looked over his shoulder, paled, and looked back to him. He waved her on.

"I'll be okay. Go on." he told her. She gave him a searching look, then grabbed Neville and pulled him away. Harry watched them go before turning to face Draco Malfoy.

He looked terrible. He'd always been pale, but now there was no color in his face. Shadows hung under his red eyes and his hair hung lank and oily. It looked like months since he'd slept. Guilt wrenched at Harry's chest.

He'd done this. He'd killed Malfoy's father. If someone had done to Vernon what he'd done to Lucius...he couldn't imagine looking any better. "Draco." he said.

Malfoy scoffed. "What? We're on a first name basis now?" then he did something very surprising. He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him into an alcove.

"What are you doing?" He jerked his arm free. "What do you want?"

"Look, Potter, I...wanted to talk to you."

Harry blinked. "You did."

Malfoy growled. "Yes. So shut up and listen. You killed my dad. I loved my father, and you took him from me. Do you know what my summer was like? Every day I woke up and went to the kitchen and saw my mother crying over a cup of tea. Every. Day. She wasn't sleeping, she barely ate. You killed my father, and now my mother is dying.

"I want to hate you. God, I want to hate you so much. Then I remember what kind of man he was like." he ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "My father was...not a good man, Potter. Nor was he a good father. But he was my dad. I loved him. But I'm glad he's dead. So thanks, Potter, and go fuck yourself."

Then he left Harry in the dark alcove, wondering what had just happened. After a minute, he shook himself and went back to the common room. That had been the weirdest conversation he'd ever had, hands down.

He got to the portrait hole and stopped outside, realizing he didn't know the password. The Fat Lady looked down at him with a superior grin.

"No chance you can just let me in?" he asked hopefully.

She shook her head, then pouted as the painting swung open from inside. An impatient looking Hermione stuck her head out.

"Harry, I've been checking for every five minutes." She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the portrait hole. "Where were you?"

"I was talking to someone." he said.

"Luna?"

"No, why would you think that?"

She grinned a similar grin to the one the Fat Lady had worn. "No reason."

"Come on, Hermione! Answer me?"

"Nope. Not gonna."

"Please?"

"Go to bed, Harry."

* * *

_END CHAPTER SIX_

**Note: Yep. It's an AU. Things are different. People are different. If you think Malfoy's going to be all sunshine and kittens, think twice. Yeah, his dad was an ass, but he was still his dad. He's going to pissed at Harry for a long time. Although I don't think he'll be bugging Harry anymore.**

**Next time on Funny thing, Magic: the plot thickens. **


	8. Ghosts of Men, II

**Note: Anyone willing and able to draw a cover image for this story? I'll give you a digital cookie! I've received another request to slow the hell down in my story pacing. I think I've figured out why I look like I move faster. There's not a whole of subplots going on. And I like that, so I'm going to keep it that way. Going into more detail, though, _that _I'm all in favor for. So I'll see what I can do. **

**Onward and...well, onward. **

_CHAPTER SEVEN: GHOSTS OF MEN, II_

* * *

Even though the Dementors weren't allowed on the school grounds, their presence was still felt. People tended to travel in groups, huddled together for warmth. Professors were on edge, taking points for minor infractions yet oddly lenient on homework. The news of the breakout had put a damper on everyone's mood. The presence of the Dementors had driven the notorious Hogwarts rumor mill into high gear, and speculation was rife about why they were there and who they were protecting.

Predictably, and unfortunately for Harry, they didn't look very far beyond him. It had been bad at the end of last year. People had been wary of approaching him, or talking directly to him. Over the summer the story of what he'd done had grown into a legend. _One I want no part of_, he thought, pushing his way through the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

He'd been looking forward to this class. And also dreading it somewhat. To say he'd had bad experiences with Defense teachers was putting it somewhat mildly. Still, the look of the classroom gave him a little hope.

Each professor's personality leaked into the rooms they taught in. McGonagall's class was neat, orderly, efficient. Spartan, like the woman herself. Flitwick's room was full of knicknacks and old dueling trophies. Snape's was dark and dank and quiet. Someone first entering a Hogwarts class could get a good idea of who the teacher was just by looking around. And the way the room was set up told Harry that maybe, just maybe, this one finally knew what he was on about.

Cages lined the walls, some empty, and some occupied by some manner of fantastic beast. A large tank sat at the back of the classroom, and a spindly looking angry creature was pressing its face against the glass. There was a projector at the back and shelves of books interspersed the cages.

"Morning." Neville dropped into the seat next to Harry before yawning. "Se-seen Hermione?"

"Nope." Harry shook his head. "Why, you need her for something?"

"No. Just wondering."

"Uh-huh."

"I was!"

"Okay."

"Harry..." Neville dropped his face into his palms. Harry laughed and shoved his friend's shoulder.

Before he could say anything, the girl in question entered the class and took the remaining seat on Harry's other side. "Good morning boys." she said brightly, folding down the page of the book she'd been reading and returning it to her bag. "Looking forward to the class?"

"More or less." Neville replied. "I want to know one way or the other if this guy's a duffer or not."

"And with that ringing endorsement," a wry, smooth voice said, "let's get started."

Neville turned an interesting shade of green, and Harry turned to see who he'd inadvertently insulted.

The speaker was a worn looking man. The sort of person who engaged in a deeply wearying task on a regular basis regardless of whether they wanted to or not. A series of parallel scars went from the man's left ear, across his nose, and to the bottom of his right jaw. They reminded Harry of a similar set across his chest. Light brown eyes, almost yellow, and a lupine set of features made the overall resemblance to an old wolf very strong.

"Good morning, class." the man continued, grinning at Neville for a moment. "My name is Remus Lupin and, by the end of class today, I hope to have convinced you that I am not, in fact," his grin grew. "a duffer of any sort."

Harry's hopes rose. His first instinct, the one that hit him about people, said that Lupin knew what he was on about. He took out a fresh sheet of parchment for notes, a small smile on his face. For the first time in two years, he looked forward to the day's lesson.

* * *

"Right," said Lupin, flicking his wand at the projector. "I had intended for our first lesson to cover something boring and mundane like pixies." a collective groan went up from the class. Neville's eye twitched. Lupin laughed. "But as I understand it, you lot have an impressive knowledge of those beasties already. No, instead I thought to myself, 'Lupin old boy, there's a lesson already here. At Hogwarts!' 'Really?' I say to myself, 'what would that be?'"

He paced behind his desk and placed his palms flat on its surface. The projector creaked and slotted a slide. A familiar picture appeared on screen and Harry couldn't help the shiver that went down his spine at the sight. A red eyed wolf shadow snarled at them all. "Dementors," Lupin said, all traces of his former good humor gone. "the bane of all good feeling. Who can tell me anything about them?"

To no one's surprise, Hermione's hand was the first in the air. Harry elbowed her. She flushed and started to lower her hand, but Lupin already called on her.

"Ah, well. Tell us what you know, Ms..."

"Granger, Professor Lupin."

"Well, then, Ms. Granger. When you're ready, astound us."

"Shouldn't have said that." Neville muttered to Harry, who snickered. Hermione shot them a glare, then started to speak.

"Dementors are the creation of the warlock Aldrick Az Khaban in the eleventh century. The exact method for their creation is lost-" Harry jumped as if poked. Dumbledore knew! "-but the general agreement is that they are the combination of a dark spirit and the body of a wolf."

"Very good, Ms. Granger. Take five points. No, better make it ten. And a half. Let's hear from someone else, shall we? Nobody else wanted to know about the monsters at their door? Well. Makes me wonder about your self preservation instincts, but that's neither here nor there. I'll take over, shall I?"

Lupin moved to lean against his desk and folded sinewy arms. He frowned at his sternum for a moment before looking up.

"Ms. Granger is quite correct. How the Dementors came to be is forgotten, and thankfully, they cannot breed. What they are is nothing more than the sum total of everything awful about humanity. Violence, fear, anger, dread, all wrapped in the guise of a wolf and topped with a lethally venomous bite for which there is no known cure.

"I did not intend for today's lesson to become a warning about Dementors, but listen: they are some of the most vile beings in creation. I don't know what the Minister was thinking, letting them leave Azkaban. They will kill you, if they find you. They respect only one thing, and I'm sorry to say that none of you are it.

"Well, that's probably enough doom and gloom. Okay...let's see. Homework, yes! Don't groan at me, it's my job. How about six inches of parchment about the various attributes and characteristics of Dementors? Due by next class. That'll be all. Run along."

* * *

"Well, that was..." Neville searched for the word as they waded through the press of students towards their next class; Herbology. "I got nothing."

"Professor Lupin strikes me as a weird man, honestly," Hermione dodged a first year. "but he's certainly knowledgeable."

"He knows his stuff, I'll grant you that." Harry said. "But he missed something."

"He did?" she frowned. "What'd he miss?"

"Well, two things:" Harry held up two fingers. "First, Dumbledore knows how they're made. He said so, anyway. Second, they're attracted to power. The more you have, the bigger yen for you they get."

Hermione caught his implication faster than Neville, and gasped. "Wait, that means-"

"Yep. I am the most popular item on the Dementor menu. Well, it could be worse."

"How?" Neville and Hermione chorused. Harry shrugged.

"Professor Teeth could be teaching again."

Neville shrugged, then grinned. "Fair enough. Though, seriously, Harry, what are you going to do?"

"Be very, very careful." Harry answered. "I have no desire to spend any time in hospital this year."

"We'll help if we can, mate." Neville clapped him on the shoulder. Hermione nodded. He smiled gratefully.

"Thanks, guys."

* * *

Harry wondered if, up in the cosmos, there was a Fate or a Luck who had it in for him. It was the only explanation that made sense for his continued ill fortune.

_It was either that_, he thought, bending his head against the lashing rain. _Or Luna was right, and there is a conspiracy to control the weather_. Privately, he hoped she was right. If she was, he might have a chance at some good luck every now and again.

"Come on, Harry, we're going to miss the game!" Neville shouted over the wind. Harry glared at him.

"Explain why that's a bad thing!" he shouted back, and tried to keep the needle sharp rain from turning his face into a pincushion.

"Oh, for the love of- are you a wizard, or not?" Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at his face. "_Impervius!_"

That was better. The rain just sort of...sheeted off him now, like water off a duck. It wasn't exactly pleasant. But it was much better than the alternative. He'd have preferred to avoid the whole choice in the first place and stay in, but that was apparently not in the cards. Instead, he was going to watch Hufflepuff thrash Ravenclaw in a Quidditch match. Having only a passing interest in the sport despite a not-inconsiderable amount of skill on the broom, he didn't really know why he was there.

Not true. He knew _exactly _why he was there, and he hoped Neville appreciated it. He was pretty sure there were better ways to spend time with Hermione, but he wasn't the mastermind behind this. So instead, he suffered in silence.

"I really hate this!"

Mostly.

On the plus side, the match sure looked to be interesting. Anyone trying to fly in this wind would be very entertaining to watch.

* * *

Harry was right, the match was very interesting. It was by far the most injury laden he'd ever seen. Within the first five minutes there were three time-outs called for injuries sustained. With the cloud cover, rain, and wind, none of the players could see much of anything. So that meant a lot of people were being concussed by Bludgers. He shuddered a little at the thought. Or the rain seeping through his collar. Who would want to play a sport in which a cannonball tried to kill them?

And to make matters worse, Hermione's spell had worn off. His face was now back to being sandblasted by water. He grumbled to himself and scrunched deeper into his cloak. He suffered a couple of goals and many minutes of this before he cursed himself for a blithering idiot and smacked his forehead.

"Ow." he muttered. Then he drew power into his hand, turned his fist up to the sky, and opened his fingers. A shield of amber light shimmered into life around him, then faded from view at a thought from Harry. He sighed in satisfaction and took great pleasure in the envious looks his peers were shooting him.

Thus protected, he was able to enjoy the mayhem above. At least, until an unwelcome feeling of icy dread crept fingers into his heart. He could see his breath misting in front of him and the rain change to a slurry of water and ice that pinged off his shield. His heart pounded and his fists clenched. He knew what was causing this.

People started screaming.

The Dementors had entered the grounds. And they were there for him. He ground his teeth and drew power into himself. They were coming.

He was ready.

In a hateful tide, the Dementors flowed onto the pitch. Walls were no obstacle, nor was the slick wood of the stands. They fell on the bodies of his peers, of his teachers, tearing with fangs dripping with venom. Half of the group went one way, half the other. They spread out in a pincer across the stands, biting and tearing anyone in their way.

He saw the destination of half of the pincer. The old wizard looked like the beacon atop a lighthouse. Wreathed in flames, wand swooping like a conductor's baton, Albus Dumbledore went to war. Walls of brilliant red flame sheeted off him in waves, burning the Dementors to ash or driving them away. Wherever he directed his wrath, the monsters fled or they died.

The sound of their feet on wood turned his attention back to the ones who had come for him. He didn't hear the screams of the people around him. He barely saw Neville tackle Hermione off the benches onto the ground and cover her with his body. His vision filled with their shapes, their dread curled around his heart.

Harry turned, stepped onto the banister, and fell.

Wind howled past him. Rain lashed him. He fought the urge to close his eyes. Seconds passed in an eternity. Above him he could hear the sounds of the Dementors hurling themselves after him. The ground rushed up at him, faster than he could have thought. Instinct directed his gathered power to his legs.

When he landed, the impact drove him to his knees. The force of his landing cratered the muddy earth in a three foot circle around him. He stood, looked up, and started running. His only thought was to draw them away. Away from his friends. Away from the people they could hurt. He was so focused he did not feel his speed until he turned to see how close behind him they were.

His jaw dropped when he saw they were yards behind him.

Again he gathered power and again he let instinct guide him. He ignored the twinge of nausea and the pain on his face and knelt, placing his palms into the muddy ground. He took a deep breath, let it out, and hissed, "_Break_."

* * *

When he woke up in hospital, he knew the Dementors had failed. He was still alive. Aching, tired, thirsty. Scared. But alive. Harry breathed deep, letting the sensations of others' magic wash over him. He could hear people talking. Snatches of conversation drifted to him over the bustle of the busy hall.

"...never seen magic like that before."

"All that fire! It washed over me, and didn't hurt me!"

"Did you see Potter? What he did to the pitch?"

What had he done to the pitch? He had a good idea, but he wasn't sure. Acting entirely on instinct had left him passing out without knowing what effect his power would have.

"He always saves us. What will happen when he needs saving?"

A quiet, familiar voice. Slightly rougher now, thanks to a scar on her throat. He felt cool hands envelope one of his own and became aware of someone on either side of him, and at the foot of his bed.

There was a sniffle to his left and Hermione's thick voice said, "Do you think he'll wake up soon?"

"Yeah." Neville's voice was forced calm at Harry's feet, trying to reassure his worried friend. "He's tough, and he's used more magic than that before. Few hours, he'll be right as rain."

"Physically, yes." Luna's voice to his right. "I'm scared for him, though."

"Why?" Hermione asked. Luna's answer was unheard. Harry's eyes chose that moment to function again, and he finally truly woke up. The familiar sight of the hospital wing's ceiling greeted his newly woken eyes.

"Harry?" Silver eyes and a pretty face replaced the ceiling. He much preferred this view. She smiled at him. "How are you feeling?"

His brain must have been a little asleep, still, because his answer was, "I really hate this place."

* * *

"I do believe the school may not survive your time here."

"Sorry, sir."

"Don't be. It's no fault of yours that you defend yourself. Our budget disagrees, but to hell with it."

Harry smiled. "Okay, sir."

Dumbledore returned his smile, and placed his hands palm down on his desk. "Now, I imagine you're wondering why you're here, destruction of my Quidditch pitch aside."

Harry winced. "Yes, sir. Is it completely destroyed?"

"Quite. I believe the current plan is to turn it into a second lake for Care of Magical Creatures. Now, onto more serious matters." Dumbledore assumed what Harry though of as his default pose: leaning back in his seat, hands steepled, thoughtful frown firmly in place. "The Dementor's attack today had a twofold purpose. The first, rather obviously, was you and-forgive my moment of egotism- me."

"Why us, sir?"

"Have you forgotten already, Harry?" Dumbledore chided gently. "I told you when I visited your home that Dementors are drawn to power. It just so happens that you and I were the most magically powerful people there."

"Right. Sorry." Harry turned red and scratched his head. He had known that. With all that had happened earlier that particular piece of information had sunk to the depths of his mind to be recalled at a later time. Namely, now. "What's the second reason?"

"Far more sinister, I'm afraid. I'm sure you received a letter from the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"I did. Did everyone get one?"

"Indeed they did. I still have mine, somewhere." Dumbledore gestured to the expanse of papers on his desk. "At any rate, one of those individuals, possibly more, orchestrated the attack today in order to sneak into the school to accomplish a goal. Can you guess the purpose of that goal, knowing what you do about them?"

"I don't know anything about them, sir." Harry protested, shrugging. He wondered why Dumbledore was asking this. He was starting to see that the old wizard never did anything without a reason.

"Guess." Dumbledore challenged. "Use that keen mind."

"Okay, uh..." he trailed off and thought hard. Azkaban was guarded by Dementors. They were nasty, nasty things. It stood to reason that the people they guarded were just as nasty. And the only people nasty enough to end up there in the last decade all worked for... "Voldemort. It's him again, isn't it?"

"Isn't it always." was the enigmatic reply. "Well reasoned, Harry. The purpose of the attack and its subsequent break-in had but one purpose: you."

"Me?"

"Yes. You. You destroyed their master. In their minds, quite deranged from more than a decade at the tender mercies of the Dementors, your state of living is the only thing keeping their master from returning to life."

A long silence reigned in the office. "That's-" Harry couldn't find the words. He was stunned. Floored. "That's-that's complete bollocks. Sir."

Harry was treated to a rare sight then; Dumbledore's laughter. He threw back his head, dislodging the old pointed hat, and laughed. He was still smiling when he replied, "I don't think I could have put it better, Harry. The idea has some merit, granted, but none of those men or women possess the knowledge or sanity to do so."

"So I shouldn't be worried?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No. You should." Dumbledore had no trace of a smile on his face now. "There are few things more dangerous or unpredictable than the mind of a madman. They think in curves where we do in lines. Solutions to problems we do not know exist are obvious to them. Their insanity means they don't know the meaning of the word 'impossible'. They will do anything, try anything. And they will never give up."

"Thanks, sir." It was bitter of Harry, he'd be the first to admit. But sometimes it felt like he had too much to carry and not enough strength. Dumbledore sighed.

"I don't mean to add to your burden, my boy, but you must be careful. You are strong and brave and smart and very, very capable. There is no doubt in my mind that you have strength enough to face anything this world has to offer you."

There was no trace of bitterness in Harry's reply of "Thanks, sir."

"Good luck, Harry, and good evening. The events of the last day have left much on plate."

"Of course, sir. Good evening."

If nothing else, Dumbledore had given him a hell of a lot to think about.

* * *

In the weeks after the Dementor attack there was little else the school would talk about. The only other subject capable of holding anyone's attention was Harry. This annoyed him to no end, and also was somewhat gratifying. Yes, it was bothersome when he was late to class because people kept asking him what it felt like to fight Dementors. But it also felt good to be acknowledged for something he'd done, instead of something he'd been there for.

It was entirely his, and he took pride in it.

Unfortunately, little else good came from that day. Seventeen students and one professor lost their lives to the Dementors. Hagrid, whom Harry had tea with a few weekends a month, took over the Care of Magical Creatures position when Kieran Kettleburn died protecting the students near him. This knowledge, knowing that despite all his power people had still died, kept his ego firmly in check. He hadn't known any of the people who'd died. He still felt their absence.

It seemed like the castle itself was mourning her lost students.

Harry wanted to blame himself. If he was just faster, or stronger, or smarter, or _something_, then maybe they'd still be alive. A part of him-what he liked to think of as his grown-up self- knew it wasn't his fault. The rest took the blame and put it squarely where he thought it belonged: his shoulders.

He sat and looked pensively into the common room fire. The comfy armchair had long been accepted by his housemates as his, and it was in this that he parked himself. He dug through his bag and found his Charms text. Homework would serve to distract him. Nothing focused his mind like finding things to do besides it.

An hour's procrastination later found him with a half-written Charms essay and company. Neville had taken the other armchair next to him and was turning his wand over in his hands. "This was my dad's you know." he said suddenly.

"It was?" Harry set aside the homework. "But, that weird bloke I talked to in the wand shop said-"

"Yes, 'the wand chooses the wizard'." Neville did a decent impersonation of the wand seller. "Guess I was enough like my dad that it picked me. I dunno. What's bothering you?"

"Eh?" Harry blinked. "Something's bothering me?"

Neville scoffed. "Harry, I know you. We've been friends for close to three years. I know when something's bugging you. So. What is it?"

He sighed deeply before answering. "I-"

"Let me guess. You're feeling responsible. Guilty, even."

"Yeah." Harry leaned back, surprised.

"Don't. It's not your fault. My gran used to tell me, 'if you've done everything you can, and everything still goes horribly wrong, don't feel bad. It's God's way of keeping you humble'."

Harry snorted. "Your gran sounds like a character, mate."

Neville smiled. "You've no idea. I think you'd like her. D'you think Hermione would?"

"What's with you and the subject changes? And yes, I think- wait, why would it matter?"

Neville turned red and pocketed his wand, standing. He looked at the clock. "Whoa. Hungry. Almost dinner, isn't it?"

"Neville! Answer me!"

"I can never remember. Does it start at six or seven?"

"_Neville!_"

* * *

Harry was on his way to the owlrey that Saturday to send a letter home. He'd stopped telling his parents everything that went on at Hogwarts. They'd just worry and fret and yell and he didn't want them to do that. So he'd filled the letter with stuff about classes, his friends, how it was so obvious Neville and Hermione liked each other. He'd even been incredibly brave and mentioned Luna. Something he was sure that Petunia would zero in on and the return letter would be full of questions about her.

He wasn't looking forward to it, but the alternative was so much worse. He rounded a corner and bounced off someone.

"Potter?"

Great. This should be interesting. "Malfoy."

"Ooh, I'm back to last names. Did I do something?"

"You're a ponce. Does that count?"

"Bugger off." Malfoy shoved past him, and only then did Harry notice that the other boy's eyes were sunken and red.

"Hey!"

Malfoy stopped. "What?"

"...I'm sorry."

"For what? Killing my father?"

Harry shook his head. "No. If you'd seen what he did. No, I'm not sorry for that. I'm sorry it hurt you and your mum."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?!" Malfoy whipped around, eyes wet. "Am I supposed to forgive you? That's not going to happen! You can't just apologize and make everything okay again! You. Killed. My. Dad. I can never forgive you for that. But," he laughed brokenly. " the worst part is, things are better now. My mother smiles sometimes. Do you know how long it's been since I saw that?"

"I..."

Malfoy held up a hand. "Don't, Potter. Just...don't. I'm not going to attack you. You're not my enemy. But we'll never be friends."

With that, Harry's one-time nemesis left, leaving behind him an echo of a voice and an aura of sadness and grief. He watched Malfoy go, and wondered if he'd made the wrong decision down in the Chamber. His mind flashed images of blood spattered floors and dead little girls. He remembered the taunting words and eyes of a madman. He focused on Luna bleeding to death under his hands and knew that he hadn't made the wrong choice.

That didn't help him knowing how it felt to kill.

* * *

On a Tuesday in the middle of October, for once not Halloween, six of the escaped prisoners were spotted twenty miles from Hogsmeade. Rather typically of the school, not much else was talked about in the days afterward. Harry found himself listening avidly to the talk around him. For all his occasional absentmindedness, he was a smart kid. The letter over the summer, the incident at the Quidditch pitch, his talk with Dumbledore. All of these things added up to something. Some event taking place in the background.

He couldn't fathom what. He knew they wanted him. He knew why. But he still felt as if he was missing something. So he went to the best source of knowledge he could think of. The one place where he could be guaranteed to find an answer.

"Hey, Hermione. I need your help with something."

* * *

Harry huffed and tossed yet another old newspaper away from. The table they'd commandeered in the library was covered in the things. He and Hermione had started looking into the history of the convicts. That meant digging way back into the original trials. What they had discovered wasn't very helpful.

"Honestly," Hermione sighed and rubbed her brow. "it's like they were more interested in selling papers than reporting the actual event."

"I know," Neville nodded enthusiastically. "it's like they're a newspaper or something!"

She hit him.

Harry grinned at their antics and took another unread paper from the pile. "Oh, hello, hello!" he flipped the front page around to show the others. "Think I'm onto something with this one."

The headline read; **MUGGLE MASSACRE, EX-DEATH EATERS TO BLAME. CONVICTION A CERTAINTY**. Below the headline were three pictures. The first was of an emaciated group of men and women, howling and screaming at the camera. The second was of a destroyed street. Blood spatters were still staining the asphalt, but the bodies had long since been removed. The third was of a thin, once-handsome man. He stared dully out at them with empty eyes. The caption under this read:**Sirius Black, fugitive and murderer, captured at the scene**.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Hermione said impatiently. "Start reading."

So Harry did.

Bellatrix Lestrange was once the favorite daughter of the Black family. Beautiful, brilliant, and possessed of the dark, sadistic streak that characterized her family. Upon her marriage to Rabastan Lestrange, she became a Death Eater. Her sadism and willingness to torture and murder was unmatched, and she soon grew to be the favored of Voldemort. She was convicted of torturing and murdering the parents of Neville Franklin Longbottom.

Oskar Travers was an assassin. He drifted from England to the continent and back, taking contracts on and for anyone. A cold man, possessed of little emotion and less heart, his targets were known to be dispatched with quick, cunning brutality. Five years before Voldemort's fall Travers drifted into his eye, and was quickly offered a position. He gladly took it. He was sentenced for the dual murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewitt.

Alecto Carrow was a thug. Pure magical talent and a cruel imagination. Her only other quality of worth to Voldemort was her lack of intelligence and willingness to do anything at all for him. She brought her brother into the fold and together they wreaked havoc on Voldemort's enemies. They specialized in the murder of Muggles, making it look as if no magic were involved in the attacks. When the Aurors came to capture her, she and her brother fought until their wands were snapped. Amycus Carrow was killed.

John Finch was a sadist of the truest form, topped only by Bellatrix Lestrange. He captured, tortured, and eventually killed fifteen young witches before finally being captured.

The brothers Lestrange, Rabastan and Rodolphus, were the backbone of Voldemort's army. Brilliant tacticians, neither hampered by morals or conscience. They directed the campaign of terror the Death Eaters carried out against Magical Britain.

Bartemius Crouch Sr was once a high ranking official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When it was discovered that he had been purposefully arranging escapes for captured Death Eaters, he and his son killed six Aurors before they were captured.

"My God," Hermione whispered, covering her mouth. She pushed the paper she'd been reading over to him. "Harry, look at this."

Harry took the paper and read the story of Sirius Black. The more he read, the more he once again started to hate a man he'd never met.

Sirius Black was once the prodigal son of his family. The perennial black sheep. Where they went north, he went south. If they wanted him to do something, he would do the opposite, just to spite them. On entering Hogwarts, he caused a massive scandal by being the only Black to be sorted into Gryffindor. He met James Potter,and the rest was history. Best man at the wedding, Harry's godfather, their most trusted friend.

Right up until he betrayed them. Sirius Black went to Azkaban for betraying the location of the Potter family to Voldemort. Harry finally knew why he grew up without his birth parents. His hands clenched, the paper crinkled around his hands.

"Harry?"

He swallowed thickly. He was looking at the answer, and all he wanted to do was make Black _hurt_. He barely felt Hermione's hand on his.

"Harry, please look at me."

His eyes shot up to hers. Her brown eyes were full of sympathy. "He was their friend." he sniffed. She took the paper from his numb hands.

"I know." she said quietly.

"Who would do that? Betray their friend like that?"

"I don't know."

Harry took a deep, shaky breath. He covered her hand with his own and tried a reassuring smile. "I'm okay." he said. She quirked an eyebrow. "Mostly. I...just don't get how he could do that."

"That's why you're better than he is." she said, wrapping him into a hug. He leaned into it gratefully. He tried to find the words to tell her how much that meant to him. What he came up with was,

"Thanks, Hermione."

She hugged him tighter. "Anytime, Harry. Anytime."

* * *

Harry was on his way to his first Hagrid taught Care of Magical Creatures. It was a cloudy, windy day and he was very much not looking forward to it. He like Hagrid, but what creatures the man thought was interesting were thought by the rest of the world to be dangerous. Last time it had been hippogryphs. Harry wasn't sure what the giant man had in store for them this time, but he probably wouldn't like it.

"Harry!" someone screamed before a flash of red sent him spinning into unconsciousness.

He woke unable to move or speak. He was lying flat on his back in wet grass. The night sky wheeled overhead through gaps in the tree canopy. That, and the hoots and calls of various night creatures, told Harry where he was.

The Forbidden Forest.

If he could have groaned, he would. The last time he was here, nothing good had come of it. He didn't have high hopes for this time, either.

"Well, well. He's awake."

The voice reminded him enough of Lucius Malfoy to make him go cold with fear. It was just as calm, just as cold, just as completely and utterly mad. He wished he could move his head to see the speaker, then heard footsteps on the grass coming his way. Ragged boots came into view, followed by equally ratty trousers. Then he saw gnarled hands gripping a wand, leading up to a gaunt, haunted face.

One that he recognized.

His eyes widened.

Standing above him with death in her eyes was Alecto Carrow. His fingers flexed and-forgive

Wait.

He could move.

"I've been-" she stared, but Harry punched out with his power, manifesting a comet of golden light to slam her across the clearing into a tree. As Carrow flew through the air she flicked her wand. Her impact with the tree cracked in the air, and she slid to the ground unharmed as the tree fell behind her.

Some instinct guided his power through his limbs. Freed from the body-bind, he scrambled to his feet around the same time Carrow regained hers. Light swirled around his clenched fists and leaked from his eyes. She started laughing, high and insane.

"You've got teeth, Potter!" she gasped between laughs. "I like it! But," she was suddenly deadly calm as she flicked her wand and threw hundreds of wooden splinters in Harry's direction. He yelped and drew a curved shield in front of himself. It flickered under the assault but held, the sound not unlike hail falling on a metal roof. Through the distorted air his shield created he saw her pause and in that moment flicked his hand forward. The shield darted forward, turning horizontal and becoming a blade that Carrow barely managed to avoid.

More trees fell as the golden wedge cut through them like butter. Harry breathed hard and launched another attack. Carrow dodged or batted them away, and retaliated with a curse. It screamed at him and he could almost smell the pain it would cause should it hit. He ducked, or would have, but his feet slipped in the wet grass. The curse hit him dead on in the chest.

All he could do was scream.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Unlike anything he had felt before. Pain so great that he screamed his throat raw. An eternity passed in the time he was under the spell. Later he would find out it was only a few seconds, but in that moment...eons passed.

Then it was over, and Carrow was laughing again. "Did you really think you could beat me? You're only a boy!"

"Go to hell." Harry rasped, rising to one knee. He punched out with his hands, sending a wall of amber fire at her. Her wand swished left then right, diverting the flame around her. Harry clenched his fists, then pulled them back. The fire arced up and behind her, driving down in a column directly on top of her head. She screamed in pain as she burned.

Harry watched, not letting up until his vision was graying and a ten foot circled where Carrow stood was ash. Only when he was beyond doubt that she was dead did he let up. Then he turned and started limping his way back to the castle. A cold wind sprung up and limbs started to sway. Leaves rustled against each other. A cold rain started to fall.

"Great." he mumbled. "Just great."

He wove a shield around himself as best he could. The drain sent him staggering to lean against a wet trunk for a moment. He pushed the knowledge that he had killed again to the back of his mind and focused on putting one tired foot in front of the other.

His shield failed at the gates. It was a thoroughly soaked, tired Harry that made his way to the school's massive front doors. To his surprise a group of people, headed by the terrifyingly scarred Auror called Moody, was waiting for him. McGonagall was there, and so was Flitwick, Sprout, Hagrid, some other teachers he didn't know, most of the prefects, and Dumbledore. They were, to a one, soaked through.

"Harry!" Hagrid shouted, reaching him just as his knees gave out. The big man scooped Harry up and carried him over. "What happened?"

Harry snagged Dumbledore's sleeve when they reached him. Electric blue eyes peered into his. "Harry?" he said softly. "Which one of them was it?"

"Carrow." Harry replied. "She's dead, sir."

"I see." Dumbledore placed a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry's eyes blurred and his throat constricted. "So am I."

"Hagrid, take him to the hospital wing." Dumbledore ordered. "Madam Pomfrey should have a look at him."

"Right you are, Professor." Hagrid rumbled, then started wading through the people. "'Scuse me, pardon me. Sorry, Professor Flitwick, didn't see you."

Over Hagrid's shoulder, Harry watched Dumbledore started speaking intently with Moody. What about, he didn't know. Nor care. He just wanted it to be over, and for the last few hours to have never happened.

As Hagrid carried him through the castle, whispers following him, he knew neither of those things was going to happen.

* * *

_END CHAPTER SEVEN_

**Note: So, yeah. Another chapter down. I gotta say, I hope you guys are having as much fun reading this as I am writing it. At any rate, I'm thinking about ideas for my next project. I'll tell you more about them in other AN's and you can tell me what you think.**

**Or not. **

**Either way: Read, Review and, most importantly, Enjoy!**


	9. Ghosts of Men, III

**Note: So, it has come to this. Chapter 8. I don't really have anything to announce up here. Maybe there'll be an important note at the bottom. I doubt it, but check it out. Chapter wise, there's some Luna, some angst, a good bit of plot, and maybe a fight scene or two. You know, business as usual. **

**This is where I say something like, "Let's go.". So I'll just say that. **

_CHAPTER EIGHT: GHOSTS OF MEN, III_

* * *

Harry was beginning to wonder if there would be anything left of him by the time Hogwarts was done. He didn't mean physically. Madam Pomfrey could do wonders with magic. No, he meant emotionally. Before he came to this school he didn't know anything about himself. He didn't know about magic, or his fame, or why his parents died. He didn't know what it was like to take a life. Now he knew all of these things, and didn't want any of it.

It had brought some of the best parts of his life to him. His friends, a purpose. Knowledge of who he was. Now, though...he wanted nothing more to do with the magical world. He wished he'd never gotten that letter. He wished none of this had ever happened and he could go back to being a kid with funny eyes and an unusual gift.

That, he knew, was not in the cards. There was no going back. There were spells to remove memories, and he'd read about them, but they were all-encompassing mind wipes. He wanted a surgical strike, something that would sneak in and take the memories of this place away from him. Such a spell did not exist. He wasn't smart enough to invent it, either. Hermione wouldn't help him. Neville wouldn't help him. Luna...

She threw a hitch into his plan just by existing. Every time he thought about running he remembered her face. Every time he thought about abandoning Hogwarts and the world of magic he thought about how she would have died without him there to save her. He knew, unequivocally, that the world would be worse off without her in it.

If he'd have left, how many others would have died? How many people would the wraith have killed before it was stopped? Who would have stopped the homunculi in the Chamber from massacring half the school? When he looked at it like that, when he thought about the people who were still walking and laughing and smiling because of _him..._it became less of a burden to bear.

So that's what he did. Whenever the urge to run hit him, he'd look at the people around him. They were here because he'd fought. Because he refused to die, they still lived. He hated it. Every minute of it. He hated how people had to die so he could stay alive. Harry wanted to live. He wanted his friends to live. He wanted to die of old age a long, long time from now. If that meant he had to fight...

Then he would. God help him, but he would with all he had.

* * *

"Hello, Harry Potter."

"You know, Luna, one day you're going to greet me with just my first name."

She wrinkled her face in an appearance of genuine confusion. "Now why would I do that? There's a lot of Harry's out there, but there's only one you. Why shouldn't I call you who you are?"

"Well, when you put it like that I suppose you've got a point."

"I know I do. Now what are you doing here?"

"I like it here."

"It's the owlrey. I'm fair certain the owls don't like it here. Plus, it's cold, and-"

"You don't like the cold, I know." he grinned at her. She smiled back, then shivered.

"Here, let me try something." he drew power into his palm. The air around his hand shimmered. She placed a hand on his. He looked up at her to see a curious look on her face. "What?"

"I want to see what it feels like." she said softly. "Go ahead."

Oddly flattered and red-faced, he pushed the shimmer into the air around them and whispered, "_Warmth_."

The air around them warmed noticeably. Luna shivered again. "Oh, my." she said. "That's very nice. I'm starting to see why you like it here."

He shrugged. "It's quiet. Most of the time. I come here to think."

They were up in the owlrey in mid-October shortly after sunset, which Harry had gone up there to watch. Overhead the owls were just starting to wake up, rustling and hooting to each other in a dull roar. He had claimed the lowest window's ledge as his own perch early on, and it was now somewhat cramped with the addition of Luna.

Not that he minded. She was warm and soft and fun to talk to. When she put her head on his shoulder he went very still. Until she poked him in the stomach. "Relax, I'm not going to bite you." she told him, and with a great effort, he did. "What did you come here to think about?" she asked quietly a few minutes of silence later.

He shrugged, causing her head to bob in an interesting way. "Nothing."

"Harry..."

"Okay, fine." he sighed. "I was thinking about Carrow again."

"She's the one you-"

"I killed, yeah."

She wrapped her arms around his and hugged it. "How are you doing?"

He sighed again. "I...I don't know. I mean, I know she was bad, right? She was a Death Eater, bad as they come, but..." he shook his head. "I still feel like I should have done something. Anything."

Luna was quiet for a long time. "What could you have done?"

"That's the thing, I don't know! I've been sitting up here thinking about what I could have done and I can't think of anything! I've gone over everything that happened so many times that I see it in my sleep and...there's nothing. If I had done anything else..." he trailed off.

"You'd be dead." she finished.

"I'd be dead." he agreed.

"But you still feel like you should have done something different."

"Yeah, and it's driving me up the damn wall. But I can't stop."

"Do you blame yourself?"

"No." he said decisively. "She was going to kill me. That wasn't my fault. I feel bad for killing her, but I'm glad she's dead and I'm not. Does that make me a bad person?"

Luna kissed him on the cheek. "No. It makes you one of the best."

Harry couldn't help or explain the smile her words created. His cheek burned where she'd kissed it and he fought the temptation to touch it. The knot in his chest that he'd been feeling for days loosened, leaving behind a feeling of warmth.

Words failed him, utterly and completely. Instead he covered her hands with one of his and squeezed. They watched the moon rise in silence together before Luna slid down from the ledge and silently offered him her hand, before leading him back to Gryffindor tower. She left him with a warm smile and a quiet "Good night, Harry Potter."

"'Night, Luna." he said, then he turned and entered the common room. All in all, she was right. Tonight hadn't been all that bad.

* * *

"What are you smiling about?"

"Hmm? I'm smiling?"

"Yeah. For about two days now. It's starting to get spooky, mate."

"Can't I just be happy?"

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

"Harry, you haven't smiled in weeks, and now you haven't stopped. You have to admit, it's a bit of a shift."

"Okay fine. You _might _have a point."

"So what gives?"

"Um. Uh. Lunakissedme."

"Who did what?"

"Luna. Kissed. Me."

"Tell me everything."

"No."

"_Harry. Tell me. Now_."

So he did. If only to make Neville stop glaring like that.

* * *

Harry found himself yet again in the Headmaster's office. This time, though, there was more than the Headmaster there. The old wizard sat behind his desk as usual. The new person paced by the fireplace. She was a strong featured woman with an honest to God monocle dangling from her cloak pocket by a silver chain. He caught the tail end of what she was saying as he entered the office.

"...and what was that imbecile thinking, ordering Dementors_- Dementors-_ to guard the school? He knows that the Ministry's hold on them is tenuous at best. And then, to make matters worse, they act true to their nature and attack not only you, but Harry. The savior of our world gets attacked by the creatures assigned to protect him!" she sighed and fell into a seat. "I don't what we're going to do. This whole thing has been a disaster from start to finish and this incident with Carrow hasn't helped at all."

As had become the norm in recent weeks, Harry felt a twinge when he heard the name. He pushed the mire of feelings he had about it away and knocked on the door. The angry woman whirled about. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Harry. What can I do for you?"

"You wanted to see me, sir." he answered.

"Ah, yes. Do come in. I don't believe you've met Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"I should hope not." Bones stood and held out her hand. He took it and received a firm shake. He sat in the chair opposite her and she continued. "There are no good reasons for you to meet me, Mr. Potter, and I'm afraid today is no exception."

"Why?" he looked between the grave adults and felt the beginnings of worry. "What's going on?"

"I'm afraid that the Minister, in his _wisdom_," she growled, clearly meaning something less polite. "has decided that because of the attack on you, a full scale investigation into the security of the school must take place. And that I am to run it."

Harry frowned. "This is a bad thing?"

"Think, Harry!" Dumbledore scolded. So he did. And then his frown deepened.

"Shouldn't you be tracking down the escaped prisoners?"

"Yes!" Bones exploded. "And now I can't do my bloody job because I have to turn this whole school upside down to figure out what we already knew!" she sighed, and polished her monocle on her robe sleeve. "My apologies, Mr. Potter. The reason I had Headmaster Dumbledore call you up here was so that I can interview you on the events surrounding your...encounter with the fugitive Alecto Carrow."

He took a deep breath and nodded. Once again the ball of emotion surrounding that woman's name swirled up and lumped his throat. He had to swallow to force the words past it. "Tell me what you want to know."

"Start at the beginning." Dumbledore said gently. Bones took out a scroll of parchment and a quill. She set the parchment on a free bit of Dumbledore's desk and the quill on top of the parchment. It quivered and, when Harry began speaking, transcribed his words directly onto the paper.

"I was going to class when I see this red flash, and everything goes dark. Next thing I know I'm in the forest, and _she _is staring down at me..."

* * *

Harry was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It had been days since Bones' investigation had started, and it was the only thing anyone could talk about. Even Hermione, the one person he could count on to stay above the rumor mongering, had started theorizing about what she was looking for and why she was looking there at Hogwarts. It had only gotten worse since he'd accidentally let slip his conversation with Bones and Dumbledore in his office.

Now she wanted to include him in her investigations. It was driving him up the wall. All he wanted was to forget it. All she wanted was to know everything about it. It was starting to make him a little...testy. What's worse, he couldn't use any of his usual hiding spots because she knew about them and would seek him out there. He'd never seen her this single minded before. Even final exams hadn't aroused this kind of focus in her.

Finally, after three days of hide and seek, he'd had enough. She had cornered him in the library and was hitting him with theory after theory about why Bones was here and who she was looking for. Something inside him just snapped.

"Hermione. Shut up!"

"...and I-what?"

"You've been bothering me about this crap for days! I can't take it anymore! Why does this matter so much to you?"

He saw a flash of hurt in Hermione's eyes, quickly swallowed by anger. "Why does it matter so little to you? This people want to _kill you, _Harry, and you're treating it like it's a homework assignment! Why aren't you more afraid?"

"Afraid?" Harry scoffed. "I've never been more scared in my life! Every time I come to this damn school something crawls out of Hell to try and kill me and I'm sick of it! I'm tired of being scared and hunted by lunatics who think killing me will bring their dead master back!"

"I-" she tried to say, but there was no stopping him now.

"And another thing; why does it matter why Bones is here? For three days it's all anyone can talk about. Like there's nothing else in the world that matters apart from this. So let's sum up, just in case you're not sure I'm scared enough. I've got a homicidal school, Malfoy, the Dementors, Voldemort's lunatics, and let's not forget the Minister who keeps the only person that can do anything from doing anything! So yes, Hermione. I'm scared. I'm terrified. And I want nothing more than for it to go away. So please, just...leave me alone."

Harry was running on a cocktail of emotion. All of the suppressed anger, fear, worry, and anxiety that he'd been feeling for days had burst the dam and were smashing through him. His heart pounded, his breath came in great gasps. He felt like he'd just run a mile at full tilt. He was so wound up in his own emotions he missed the play of them across Hermione's face. He barely noticed her fleeing the library, or that about eleven people had been witness to their argument.

Once he'd cooled down a little he realized exactly who it was he'd just snapped at. His stomach twisted in guilt as he remembered the expression on Hermione's face as he yelled at her. He sat heavily at the recently vacated table and let his head thunk onto the wood. "Damn it." he mumbled. "Damn it, damn it, damn it."

Hermione wasn't at dinner. Neither was Neville. Some of the other Gryffindors, along with the other students who'd overheard their argument, were giving him odd looks for sitting alone. He didn't pay them much attention, he just pushed food around on his plate until dinner ended. He needed to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

* * *

"Harry?"

He whipped around. A red eyed Hermione was wringing her hands and looking anywhere but at him. Knowing that he'd hurt her wrenched his heart. "Hey." he said quietly.

"Luna told me you'd be up here." she said.

"Smart girl, Luna." he said, looking at his lap.

"I-" she sighed and visibly screwed up her courage. "I want to say something, and I want you to let me finish before you say anything, okay?"

Harry nodded. "Okay." he scooted over on the ledge to make room for her and wasn't really surprised when she stayed where she was. Hermione didn't say anything for a long minute, and he wondered if she'd maybe changed her mind. "Um, Hermione?"

"I just- I don't know where to start." she confessed. "Alright. Well, I guess I want to start with 'I'm sorry'. Ah ah ah!" she held up her hand. "You promised to let me finish. I _am _sorry. Really. I got so worried about you and how you were going to deal with this that I didn't actually think to ask you. So I'm sorry for that. And I'm sorry for yelling at you. And...I'm just sorry in general, I guess." she let out a long breath, before nodding firmly. "Okay, I'm done. What were you going to say?"

"That I was sorry. I thought I'd handled this whole thing, but...you just wouldn't stop reminding me how many of them were out there. And there was that thing with Carrow and...it just kind of built up, I guess. And I just kept pushing it down and pushing it down and I just blew up on you and I'm sorry about that."

Hermione laughed. "Look at the two of us. I'm sorry, and you're sorry. We make a sorry pair, don't we?"

He smiled. "I guess so. Forgiven?"

"Yeah. Forgive me?"

"There was never anything to forgive." he said.

Hermione looked like she wanted to disagree, but didn't want to break their newly forged peace. So she nodded and held out her hand. "Come on, it's cold and late and I'm pretty sure we have a Potions exam tomorrow."

Harry let her pull him to his feet before he threw an arm around her shoulder. "And you haven't been studying? The horror."

"Of course I have been." she said with an air of superiority. "Have you?"

"Nope." he admitted cheerfully.

"..."

"What?"

"I think you try to drive me crazy on purpose."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Prat."

* * *

Harry was especially wary of his temper ever since he'd exploded at Hermione. Vernon and Petunia had warned him, time and again, about the consequences of losing his temper. It had never been real, though. The consequence had always been some intangible thing: _privileges _or _responsibilities _or even the much spoken of _respect_. But he had never been able to see it unfold in front of him. Consequence, until then a word almost synonymous with punishment or grounding, had become heavier. Real.

Choice. Action. Consequence. An even, unbroken line that no one could see but everyone could feel.

He was feeling it now. Because Hermione was now wary of him.

It was nothing overt. She was much too clever and compassionate for that. But Harry could see how she held herself back. He saw her fight the tendency to nag him and Neville to do their homework, or in how she visibly struggled to not correct them when they swore or used improper grammar. She was changing because of what had happened between them. So was he. Trouble was, he didn't know if that was a good thing or not. What he did know was that there was no going back.

He didn't know what was going to happen next. And if there was one thing Harry didn't like, it was not knowing. That was something he was going to fix. As soon as he could.

* * *

November was colder than October. Much colder. Winter had been tickling Hogwarts during October. Playing with it until the Monday they went home for Christmas break. Then it punched the school in the stomach. Harry couldn't see the carriage in front of them and it was a noticeable strain on his power to keep the snow out of their windows. The wind howled like a thing possessed and blew snowdrifts across the road to Hogsmeade.

He, Hermione, Neville, and Luna had opted to survive the ride to the Express and bundled into one carriage together. Even with three warming charms and a free floating globe of flame they still shivered as the biting wind found a gap in their spells..._there_. "Y-you'd think that wizards w-would have a w-way to control the weather!" Harry stammered.

"I told you they can!" Luna said from beside him. She'd burrowed as far as possible into his side and had kindly wrapped her scarf around his neck as well. He was very aware of this, and of the feel of her against him. "The Ministry has been working on a spell to control the weather for decades!"

"Oh, not this again." Hermione grumbled. Neville laughed.

"Come on, Hermione!" he gestured at the canvas of white the outside world had become. "How else could you explain this?"

As Hermione began an in-depth explanation of weather Luna tugged Harry's ear down closer to her lips. When she whispered in his ear he felt her breath wash against his skin. Either because of the warmth or because it was her, he shivered. "You believe me, right?

He grinned. "Course I do. What else could it be but a test gone wrong?"

She nodded, smiling. "Exactly my point! I knew there was a keen mind in there somewhere." she rapped him on the forehead.

"Hey!" he protested, before joining her in laughter.

"Harry! You're just making her worse!" Hermione broke off from lecturing Neville to scold him. To which he smiled.

"Yep!" He jumped, then turned an accusatory look on Luna. "Did you do that?"

Her face was the picture or innocence. "Do what?"

Harry just sighed and looked out the window. They should be at the station soon. It had better be warm on the train. Otherwise there would be a large number of digits lost to frostbite. Or gangrene. Or both.

_Yeah_, he thought_, probably both. Wait. What's that?_

'That' being a shape in the blowing snow. It flickered in and out between the drifts, so quickly that Harry wasn't sure he was seeing it. He'd just caught a glimpse of something, the barest outline of a shape, when the carriage lurched to a halt. He couldn't see past the carriage in front of him. Dean Thomas stuck his head out of that one and shouted back, "We aren't there yet, are we?"

"No, I don't think so!" Harry shouted back.

"Great!" was the sarcastic reply. "We'll just freeze to death until these useless things get a move on!"

Harry was about to rejoin the relative warmth of the inside carriage when he saw...it again. It was large. Very, very large. And, rather worryingly, coming towards them. He stuck his snow covered head back into the carriage. "Guys," he said, "I don't want to alarm anybody, but I think something's out there."

"Something?" Neville asked. "What do you mean?"

Harry shook his head. "I have no idea. We're about to find out, though."

"Right." Hermione took charge. "Wands out. Harry, drop a shield over the carriage, please."

With a frown and a grunt of effort, Harry did. The sound of the wind died. Snow pelted into the shimmering air and melted.

"Oh, that's much better." Luna said. He strained his eyes to see through the shield and felt a surge of relief when the shape split into several more shapes and resolved into thickly robed people. He blew out a misted breath and sat back heavily.

"It's okay, it's Aurors." he said.

"Aurors? Are you sure?" When he nodded Hermione frowned. "I wonder what they're doing here?"

Harry was going to say "no idea" when a gloved hand knocked on the carriage door and a purple haired woman with a heart shaped face stuck her head into their carriage. "Wotcher," she said brightly. "you lot haven't got any Death Eaters in here, have you?"

Harry blinked. "Eh?"

"Forgive him, the cold's rotted his brain." Neville said. "No, we haven't got any Death Eaters. Sorry."

"Right." the purple haired woman said, grinning. "Well, off you trot. Have a lovely break, try not to freeze to death."

Then as quickly as she was there, she was gone. Harry settled back into his seat, making a face when he found that all his built up body heat had leeched away in the short minute he'd been away. Luna tucked herself back under his arm. It warmed up rather quickly after that.

"Who was that?" Neville wondered. Harry shrugged.

"No idea."

"Her name's Nymphadora Tonks, although she prefers Tonks." Luna supplied. Hermione had a look of comic bewilderment on her face that made Harry look away before he started laughing.

"How do you know that?" she asked. Luna shrugged.

"A snowflake whispered it into my ear."

There was a long silence in which Hermione's mouth opened and closed. The resemblance to a fish was too much for Harry, and he burst into laughter. She glared at him. Beside her Neville bit down on his scarf to muffle his chuckles.

"Or," Luna continued over the sounds of Neville trying not to laugh and Harry failing to stop. "She used to date Charlie Weasley, and they're my neighbors. Whichever you prefer."

"I...you...what?" Hermione managed to kick her brain into gear around the time Luna lost her composure and joined the boys in laughing. In short order, Harry received a kick to the shin, Neville a punch to the arm, and Luna a very confused and angry glare. "You're all evil." she declared, crossing her arms and huffing.

"Maybe," Harry conceded. "but that doesn't matter." he pointed out the window. "Salvation awaits."

Hogsmeade station, and the promise of warmth, appeared out of the snow in all its glory. He had never been happier to see a place in his entire life.

"Wouldn't it be funny if the train was broken down or delayed?"

"_Why would you say that?!_"

* * *

Luckily for Neville's continued existence, the Express was both running and on time. It was a wet and shivering quartet that staggered on board. They shed wet scarves and outer robes, making a pile of them in the center of the compartment. Hermione promised to dry them as soon as her teeth stopped chattering. Harry concentrated and touched her shoulder. She shivered again at the feeling of warmth trickling down her spine.

"Thanks, Harry." She smiled at him, then drew her wand. "Right, who's first?"

Harry laughed at the sudden clamor to garner Hermione's attention. There was nothing for it, though. She turned her wand on Neville first, cheeks slightly pink, before drying Luna.

"Now that that's done," Neville said as they sat down. Through some mystical contrivance, Harry wasn't sure how, he ended up next to Luna. "holiday plans, people, who's doing what."

"I'm staying at home," Luna announced. "Normally we go to Sweden in the winter, but I think I can get Dad to make an exception. There's plenty enough snow here."

"My parents are taking me to France," Hermione dug through her bag for her most recent book. "Said if they had to deal with one more English winter, they'd go mad. Neville?"

"Oh, nothing." Neville looked out the window. "My gran's back played up, so we're stuck in London. How about you, Harry?"

Harry frowned at Neville's statement. It didn't sound...entirely right. Too fast. He put it aside and tried to remember what Petunia had said they'd be doing in her last letter. Something about... "Visiting my Aunt Marge in Kent, I think." he made a face. "We don't get on."

"What happens?"

"Well, it's not me and her so much," Harry explained. "it's her dogs. They hate me. Think I taste good. Ow!" He gave a bewildered look to Luna, who had just bitten him. "What'd you do that for?"

She shrugged. "Wanted to see if they were right."

"Were they?" Hermione asked over Neville's laughter.

"No."

Harry blinked. "I'm not sure if I should be insulted or not."

Neville stopped laughing long enough to say, "Me neither."

"Huh." Luna smacked her lips in a thoughtful manner. "You taste like snow. Did you know that?"

Harry glanced out the window, then back at her. "I can't possibly imagine why."

* * *

He sighed morosely as the car pulled up outside a long, low house in a neighborhood in Kent. From out here, over the sounds of Dudley's snores, Vernon's argument with the radio, and the running engine, Harry could still hear barking. He sighed again.

_I really, really, really don't want to be here_.

And yet, he was. No amount of arguing or insisting that he was fine at home, really, would change his parents' mind. Even after he sulked for an hour. Dudley was no help. He actually liked Aunt Marge, and she him. Whenever she looked at Harry for some reason all she could see was strange eyes and secrets. Two things Marjorie Dursley didn't like were strangeness and things she didn't know.

It was sheer bad luck that he fell squarely into both categories.

That, and her dogs didn't like him.

So he could be forgiven for getting out of the car with _slightly _less enthusiasm than his brother.

"Come on, Harry, it's just for the evening." Petunia tried to cheer him up.

"I don't want to stay for an hour, let alone all night." he said, allowing her to steer him towards the front door. "Why does she hate me so much?"

Petunia could only shrug helplessly. Vernon stepped in and said, "She doesn't hate you son. You and her just...don't get on. Your aunt loves you and Dudley." He moved ahead with the bags, missing Harry's eye roll. It was probably for the best. He didn't want to be grounded on top of being here.

He might have exploded if that were the case.

Just as Dudley reached the front door it opened and emitted a woman as large as Vernon without any of his muscle and a pack of yipping, barking, slavering, _hungry_, bulldogs.

"There's my Duddykins!" Marge shrieked, engulfing his brother in a hug and planting wet kisses on both his cheeks. These were wiped off as soon as she moved on to greet Vernon and Petunia. Harry, she ignored. Not that he minded. "Vernon, Petunia! Oh, I've been looking forward to this for weeks! Mrs. Bornmouth, you know her, the widow in Number Six? She and I have cooking up a _storm _just for your visit! Oh, I'm all aflutter. Come in, come in!"

_And with that_, he thought, _it begins_.

He followed his mother inside, accepting her apologetic look with a smile. He swung the door shut behind him, quite purposefully shutting every single bulldog out of the house.

Entirely on accident, of course.

* * *

"So...that went well."

His choked words fell on a quiet car. Each occupant was handling what had just happened in a different way. Petunia was fiddling with the strap on her seat belt, looking with too much interest at the passing scenery. Dudley was in shock, looking from Harry to Petunia and back. Vernon had the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip and looked as if he were trying to strangle it.

As for Harry; he was crying. Tears followed the runes on his skin as they tracked down his face. He could not believe what had just happened. It was... how could someone be that cruel without being evil? It didn't make sense.

How could she have said those things?

"I'm sorry, son." Vernon's hoarse voice made him jerk his head up. His dad's face was red and his eyes held both fury and sadness. "She had no right to say those things to you. We're not going back there again, I promise."

Petunia sighed and turned to face her husband. "How can you two be related? You're completely different!"

"Pet, not now." Vernon said quietly, jerking his head back at Harry and Dudley.

"When's a good time then, Vernon? Your sister just said we'd have been better off if we left Harry to die somewhere!" she snapped. Harry jumped at the strength of her anger. "Our son! She said that about _our son_!"

"_I know!_" Vernon shouted, face red. He took a deep breath and continued in a calmer voice. "I know. I hoped she would come to see him as part of the family-"

"He is!"

"but Marge...she never liked your sister, Pet. Any reminder of Lily infuriates her. I- I hoped she would change, and she didn't. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, Vernon." Petunia's eyes were shiny. "You don't have to apologize for her."

"Someone should." Harry muttered darkly. Dudley finally found his voice.

"Why did she hate Aunt Lily so much, dad?"

Vernon sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, son. You know what she said wasn't true, don't you? Harry is a part of our family."

Harry found himself extremely interested in Dudley's answer. His brother snorted. "'Course he is. I know Aunt Marge was lying, dad. I just don't know why."

"None of us, do." Petunia said. "Except her, and she isn't telling. Best forget about your Aunt Marge for a while, boys. We won't be seeing her anytime soon."

Harry let out a shaky breath and wiped under his eyes. He hadn't meant to let Marge's words get to him. For a while, they hadn't. He'd been unaffected by her passive aggressive sniping at him throughout dinner. After everything that had happened it just seemed childish. Then after dinner everyone trooped into the sitting room for eggnog, of which Marge had quite a lot. Red faced and slurring her words, she'd started in on him again.

Only this time she'd been more direct. But he'd been able to deal. Until she attacked Lily. The mother he'd never known. She'd been taken from him, and this fat..._woman_ sat there and criticized her for dying! That had been too much for Harry, and he'd for the first time retaliated. Things went downhill from there.

The eggnog had disappeared quickly. Marge's filter had vanished quicker. His temper, never the most stable thing, had exploded, taking several light bulbs with it. Whether by accident or design, she had hit on one of the things that he'd always wondered about. Had he been taken in because he was wanted, or because of an obligation? He'd never been able to figure out before tonight.

Now, though, now he knew. He may not have been born to them, but to Vernon and Petunia Dursley, he was their son. And that meant more to him than he could ever say. The words just didn't exist. He loved them. That would have to be good enough for now.

* * *

_END CHAPTER EIGHT_

**Note: I never liked Marge. Next chapter sees the end of Harry's third year and the summer before fourth year. I'm debating with myself whether or not to include the Quidditch World Cup. I should say that I will only if I can make it different in some way. You know, like I've been trying to do since I started this fic. **

**Anyway. See you then!**


	10. Ghosts of Men, IV

**Note: Someone with a willful lack of ability to spell left me a review. I couldn't figure out what they were trying to say. So I wrote this chapter instead. For the record, it's a long one. **

**I should probably have a disclaimer at some point, don't you think? **

_CHAPTER NINE, GHOSTS OF MEN IV_

* * *

The catastrophe that was the visit to Aunt Marge aside, Harry's Christmas break had gone rather well. The only other low point was when he'd received Dudley's Christmas present; _An Idiot's Guide to Witchcraft. _It made a better bludgeon than it did a reference book, as he discovered moments after opening it. Dudley wasn't pleased about helping him discover this, but it had cheered Harry up immensely.

Being grounded for two days was a price he paid gladly.

Though he was beginning to wonder why his parents hadn't asked him about his semester. Apart from the regular questions; who'd he meet, what were his classes like...who Luna was, they'd by and large left it alone. Which was odd, because he knew he looked different. He'd seen it in the mirror one morning. Something about his eyes. They looked...older, or maybe sadder. It was how Dumbledore's eyes had looked when they'd talked about Malfoy's dad last year.

There was something else. He was starting to think that only magic people could see the tattoos on his face. No one else had seen them until he'd pointed them out. After a while, he'd just stopped doing it. It was probably for the best, given the recent development in this area:

They were spreading again. They now covered almost the entirety of his face, creeping across the bridge of his nose and down to the tip of his chin. The only part of his face they didn't cover was his forehead. _It's probably only a matter of time though_, he thought, running his fingers over the newest additions. _They're kinda cool, though_. _Like a tattoo without getting stabbed by needles_.

He'd never admit that to his parents. He was in enough trouble as it is. Somehow, and he wasn't sure though he suspected Hermione, had told them what had gone on during the semester. Before that day he'd never had occasion to use the word 'bollocking', but it was the only word he could think of to describe the tongue lashing he'd gotten.

That was nothing, _nothing_, compared to what Dumbledore had gotten. The old wizard had come around after Petunia had broken the puce dish trying to get hold of him, and had weathered the storm of her and Vernon's anger before sitting them down and calmly explaining why there was nothing to be done that already hadn't been.

Funnily enough, they hadn't taken that well, either. Even though they were much quieter about it, now that they knew Dumbledore was doing everything he could to protect their son. Their anger was then directed at the Minister of Magic, who was beyond their reach.

"We'll just pull him out, then." Vernon growled one evening. "Not like they can keep him there."

Petunia winced. Harry watched curiously, and with some amount of trepidation. "Honey, that's not entirely accurate."

"So they can." Vernon's voice was far too calm, and Harry decided that it would be a good time to go try and build snowmen in the park.

When he came back, his dad was nursing a glass of scotch and his mum was rubbing his knee sympathetically. Dudley was nowhere to be found, though that was to be expected. Both adults looked up at his entry. Both managed small smiles, though Petunia's was more forced. "Sit down, son." Vernon said, waving him between them. "We have something we need to tell you."

Harry sat, not sure who he should look at or what was going on. A ball of anxiety knotted his stomach. "What is it?"

Vernon sighed, took a sip of scotch, then set the glass on the coffee table. "We, that is, your mother and I, don't want you to go back to Hogwarts."

"Wha-" Harry protested, but cut off at Vernon's raised hand.

"That being said," his dad continued, sounding like he'd much rather not. "after talking the situation over with your Headmaster and each other, it sounds like there's nowhere else for you to go. So, against our wishes, you're going back."

"Oh." He didn't know what to say. He felt a mix of excitement- he'd get to see his friends again!- and depression- people _were _trying to kill him, after all. Vernon saw some of what he was feeling on his face.

"I thought you'd be more excited."

"Well..." how was he going to explain this? "I am, sort of. And I'm also kind of not."

There. _That_ made sense.

"What do you mean, sweetie?" Petunia asked. Harry sighed.

"I- I don't know. There's good things about going back, yeah, but there's also the fact that people are trying to kill me and no one's trying to stop them. So I do want to go back, and I also don't. If that makes sense."

Vernon frowned. "It does. It makes more sense than I'd like. We're leaving the choice up to you. Your life is affected by this, son, we aren't going to ignore your opinion."

"Well... can I think about it?"

"Take all the time you need." Vernon replied, then wrapped him in a hug. "Whatever you decide, we'll support you."

"Thanks, dad." Harry mumbled. He wished he could take as much comfort from his parents' hugs as he used to. Too much had changed for that. He took as much as he could and hugged his dad tight.

* * *

Days dragged on while the internal debate raged. It was hard to see past the people wanting him dead, the unwanted fame. Malfoy. When he did he saw how much that world made his life better. His friends, whom he'd started to see as closer family than his Aunt. He was better for having them in his life. If he left that world, he wouldn't see them again. He could lie to himself and say they'd stay in touch, and they would. For a while.

But they'd be part of a world that he left, and sooner or later that would tear them apart.

And then there was Luna. Whatever she was, the idea of not seeing her again left a weird, tight feeling in chest that he did not like. He wanted to ask one of his parents what it was, this feeling, but...he couldn't. Every time he tried, nothing came out of his mouth. It was secret, and belonged only to him.

He put off making the decision until two days before the Hogwarts Express left for Scotland. That morning he found Petunia in the kitchen and before he'd said a word, she just smiled sadly at him and said, "I'm proud of you, Harry."

Harry blinked. "But I haven't told you what I decided yet."

That got a laugh out of her. "Oh, honey, it's all over your face. You're going back."

"Yeah." he sighed and joined her at the table. "I...I just _need _to, you know? It's part of my life now, and I can't just walk away. And it's not all bad," he insisted, feeling a need to explain himself. "it's been good, really. I think I just have really bad luck."

Petunia smiled again. "No one's is that bad, sweetie. But you're right. I've never seen you happier than when you're at Hogwarts."

"I don't want to make you guys worry." he confessed, then he laughed. "Been here before, huh?"

"A few times. And what have I always told you?"

"That you're my parents and it's your job to worry?"

"That's my boy." she said, squeezing his hand. Then she frowned and released him, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Oh, God."

"What?"

"We need to get your supplies. You go back in two days!"

There was only one word to describe how Harry felt at that moment.

"Damn!"

"That's a pound!" Petunia declared. He dropped his head on the table and groaned. Today wasn't going to be much fun, he just knew it.

* * *

He was right. That day hadn't been fun. The result was nice, though. He was now fully kitted out and ready to go, just in time to make a mad dash for King's Cross station. Petunia saw him off at the barrier, recent changes making it impossible for someone with no magic to go through. Neither he nor her liked that very much.

Hang on a minute. He scanned the platform, seeing fewer people than he should have. Where was everybody? He saw a few familiar faces, but it looked like entire families were missing. The Bones' weren't there. Neither were the Abbots or the Parkinsons. The Malfoys were. He floated his trunk behind him, eyes flashing momentarily, and made his way onto the train.

Inside was a similar story. Less people. The ones who were there had tight expressions, worry in their eyes. It didn't take him long to realize that something had happened while they were on break. It was obviously something to do with the escaped prisoners even though damn it, he wished it wasn't.

He finally found an empty compartment and lifted his trunk into the overhead storage rack. Not for the first time he lamented his parents' stance on owls. If he could get the newspaper he wouldn't be out of the loop so much and things like-

"Potter." Malfoy slid open the door and stepped in.

_This _wouldn't happen. Harry groaned, knowing beyond doubt that he wouldn't like what was coming. The look on Malfoy's face just reinforced that. Still, no point in being rude and ruining this weird...truce they had going on. "Malfoy." he said evenly. "What do you want?"

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his hair as his once-rival and current something else sat down opposite him. Malfoy produced a newspaper from his robes and handed it over, saying nothing. He took the paper and opened it, jaw falling open. Really? A month. He'd been gone a month. And _this _happens.

**RAID ON HOGSMEADE LEAVES TOWN IN RUINS!_, _**the headline shouted. **HOGWARTS CLOSING?**

Nothing was said for a long minute. Then Malfoy said, "You didn't know?"

Harry shook his head. "I uh, I don't get the paper." he unfolded it and read the details. On New Year's Eve the remaining nine escaped fugitives made a play for Hogwarts castle. Somehow Dumbledore got wind of it and, with the help of the professors, had driven them off. The resulting battle had burned Hogsmeade to the ground. "This is getting ridiculous." he finally said.

"It's getting what?" Malfoy asked, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but Harry was fed up.

"These nine lunatics are rampaging around England and no one's doing anything!" He growled, tossing the paper back to a bewildered Malfoy. "I mean, I'm _thirteen _and I kill- I stopped one! Why in the hell isn't anyone else doing anything?!"

"They're afraid." Malfoy said flatly, tucking the newspaper away. "Afraid of what could happen, afraid of men like- like my father was. You don't know what it was like, Potter. Living in our world just before V-_He _died." he shuddered.

This struck Harry as odd, because, "Surely you don't remember?"

"Don't be an idiot!" Malfoy snapped. "I was barely a year old! I've never thought I'd have to explain this to _you _of all people but, we've all grown up with the stories of..._Him_. Of what he did to people who fought back. It's worse for our parents, they were actually there. They lived it. So they're afraid of what could happen. And if you're as smart as I hope you are, Potter, you are too."

With that, Malfoy stood and left the compartment, leaving Harry with absolutely no idea what had just happened. A minute later, Neville and Hermione entered the room in the middle of what sounded like an argument.

"...and another thing, what exactly is the _Force_, anyways? It sounds like magic, if you ask me."

"It's not though, it's the life energy of all living things- Hi, Harry- that the Jedi tap into to augment their abilities."

"I get that." Neville sat next to Harry, Hermione curling up opposite them. "It's the lightning I don't get. How is that not magic?"

"Star Wars?" Harry asked.

"Star Wars." Hermione confirmed.

The discussion continued much in the same vein, leaving Harry to wonder exactly when they'd started spending time together outside of school.

* * *

The rest of the train ride, thankfully, passed in complete and total normality. Harry was happy to discover that the ride back to the castle was not nearly as unpleasant as the ride leaving it. For one, there was no wind, for another, no snow. Finally, and most importantly, he didn't spend the entire ride expecting an attack.

Something else he noticed was the complete lack of dread that had hung over the school like a miasma since the year started. Harry couldn't help the happy smile that spread across his face, the Dementors were gone! Finally, someone had got rid of the monsters. Their absence showed. People were smiling now. Laughter rang easier in the halls than it had until now. Something else was talked about _besides _the escaped Death Eaters.

It was like a renaissance. Hogwarts renewed. Walking through it, feeling that new-found sense of almost-hope, was a powerful thing. A humbling thing. The pall cast by the ruined frames buildings, sticking out like old bones, from where Hogsmeade used to be could only dim the new brightness of the school.

As he got into bed the night of the welcome feast, a hope grew in him. Silly in the face of all that had happened, but there nonetheless. Maybe, just maybe, the rest of his time here would be more peaceful than it had been. The idea was a comforting one to go to sleep with.

So he did.

* * *

"You're looking better, Harry Potter."

Harry spun around, already knowing who it was. The owlrey was as much his perch as it was the owls and she was one of four people who knew that. Of those four, only one called him his full name. Luna smiled at him where he sat, on his customary ledge overlooking the school.

"Thanks," he said, returning her smile. "I think. Did I look bad before?"

"Yes." she nodded. "You looked all pale and tired and like you hadn't eaten in a week."

"I did?" Harry blinked.

"Yes. It was very worrying. In fact, I think I should be mad at you, for making me worry." she declared, budging him over and joining him. He gave her a bemused look. Was she angry with him or not? He'd have to do something about it if she was, because he didn't want her angry with him. He didn't like it.

"Well," he said hesitantly. "are you?"

"Oh, no." she replied, pushing on his shoulder. He took the hint and scooted farther over. The smile she gave him did funny things to his stomach. "I mean, you shouldn't do it again, but no, I'm not angry."

"Oh. That's good, then." Harry decided. Luna hugged his arm and rested her head against the same shoulder she'd shoved earlier. He could tell she was working her way up to something. She had a thoughtful cast to her face, having some internal argument about...

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Asking him that, apparently. He sighed and rubbed an ear. "Not really," he said. "I sort of talked it to death-" he winced. "-with my parents over the break. I mean, I'm not okay, but I'm getting there."

"Oh," she said, managing to sound pleased and disappointed at the same time. "that's good then. I didn't like it, the way you looked. It scared me."

"I'm sorry for scaring you." he said quietly, and how had he not noticed how pretty she looked at night? Or in general, really. This of course completely derailed his train of thought. Luna was pretty. He hadn't noticed. How big of an idiot did he have to be to not...

_Oh_.

Now he understood. Boys were oblivious.

Thanks, Petunia.

"It's okay," she said, voice slightly thick. "just don't let it happen again."

He wished he could put his arm around her. She had his arm trapped, and this was the first time that he could remember regretting a girl hugging him. Since he couldn't hug her back, he rested his cheek on the top of her head, put his free hand atop hers, and whispered, "I won't. Promise."

Harry watched the castle lights wink in the night, looking like fireflies in a field from this far up. He wondered exactly what it was about Luna that made him feel like this. There were girls that were prettier, he _had _noticed that. But they didn't do...this; turn his stomach into knots and get him to make promises that he had every intention of fulfilling. They didn't look prettier every time he saw them.

Her face was shadowed by her hair and the dim owlrey light. He could see the slight upturn of her nose and the curve of her lips and it wasn't fair. She shouldn't be able to creep into his thoughts like that, or make him mumble things like "D'you-wanna-go-to-Hogsmeade-with-me?", after which he turned bright red and looked back out at the school.

Luna stirred. "What?" she asked, and gave him an out. All he had to do was say 'nothing' and it would go back to normal. He could take it back and she wouldn't have to turn him down and crush him forever. The part of his brain not dying of embarrassment pointed out that hey, she has no reason to say no, but he wasn't really listening to himself. "Harry," she murmured. "what did you say? I couldn't hear you."

_This is Luna,_ he told himself sternly, _she likes you. Otherwise she wouldn't have made you promise not to get hurt. Now ask her again, you idiot, and speak clearly this time!_

So he did. After taking a deep breath, he said, "Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me? This weekend?"

There was a long silence during which Harry couldn't look at her. Every fear he'd suppressed when he asked her out came roaring back with a vengeance. He shouldn't have done it, now everything would be ruined and she-

"Are you asking me out?"

Would do that, apparently. Drag it out of him. Carrow hadn't been this cruel.

"Yes." he ground out.

"Oh. _Oh_!" and then she laughed, bright and clear, before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him, just at the corner of his mouth. His brain shut down. Completely. He couldn't process anything beyond the feeling of her _kissing him_. She wasn't really, but it was close enough for his suddenly narrowed worldview. "-ove to, Harry."

"What?" Harry blinked. Luna laughed again.

"I said I'd love to." she repeated, and it was as if the world had been lifted from his shoulders. _She said yes_. It repeated in his head, blending into background noise; the soundtrack to the general happiness he was feeling. He thought furiously, trying to find the words to express how he was feeling.

"Oh." he said. "Cheers."

_Good show, Harry. _

She laughed, this time he was sure at him. This time he found himself joining her. Wondering at his luck, he felt Luna wrap herself back around his arm and tuck her head against his shoulder. Nothing could ruin this moment. _She said yes_. The sky could catch fire and he wouldn't care.

In this moment, he was untouchable.

_She said yes_.

* * *

He was panicking. There, he admitted it. Harry Potter was panicking because he had a date in ten minutes and _no idea at all_ what was done during one of those. Briefly he entertained the idea of faking his death so he wouldn't have to go. All he had to do to dispel himself of that notion was to remember what her lips felt like on his. Then he'd go all weird, and ten minutes would pass where he'd do nothing but smile at walls or out windows.

_Deep breaths. Fainting won't make a good first impression. Neither would throwing up. She's your friend. You can do this. Calm. Down. _

With a tremendous effort, he did. Just in time. Luna came down to the Entrance Hall. She smiled widely at him and asked, "Ready?"

Oh, he was dead. Dead, dead, dead. She was going to kill him because every time she smiled his brain stopped. He shook himself and smiled back. "Yeah. You?" Instinct had him hold out his hand, and his smile widened when she took it.

"Lead the way." she said, letting him do exactly that. As he walked them down the path towards Hogsmeade, he wondered if it was obvious that he had no idea what he was doing. Probably not. She was still here, after all. If she knew he had nothing planned she might fake sick and run off.

So the plan was to fake having one until he could come up with it. He could do that. "Anywhere you want to go?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Not really, anywhere's fine."

No help at all.

He scrambled for something, seizing the first idea his mind came upon. "I hear the Shrieking Shack's supposed to be interesting. Want to start there?"

She smiled happily at him. "Sure."

_Way to go, Harry. You've got the next twenty minutes planned. _

There was no way he was having another date without a plan. Ever, _ever _again.

* * *

The Shrieking Shack was, as spooky things, went, a distant third on Harry's list. He supposed he was somewhat jaded, though. To someone else, he could easily see how it would scare people. The peeling, faded gray paint. Missing doors and windows like a missing front tooth or eye. Broken chimney stacks, crumbled bricks scattered across the old slate roof. A wicked barbed wire fence surrounding the whole place.

After fighting Voldemort's wraith, though, the rumor of a ghost couldn't scare him. After killing a man and destroying the Chamber, the suggestion of violence wasn't enough to disturb him. It was, he noted, a mark of how screwy his life had become that he was comparing a run-down old house to two of the most traumatic and damaging instances in his life.

"It doesn't look like much, does it?" Luna opined from beside him. She had a look of slight disappointment to her, like she had somehow heard what he'd been thinking and agreed. He nodded.

"I was expecting a bit more, yeah."

"Me too." she shrugged, then shivered. "Bloody hell, it's cold. Since this was a bust, fancy a drink at the Three Broomsticks?"

Thankful that one good thing had come of this, he agreed, and they turned to head back down the path to Hogsmeade proper. Harry felt a shiver of fear go down his spine, and moved to put Luna behind him. Streamers of light began playing around his clenched fist.

"I've been looking for you." the man standing in their path was gaunt, thin in a way Harry had only seen once before. He had a pencil thin mustache and carried himself in a manner suggesting previous wealth. The man held a wand in a loose, confident grip at his side, like he expected a thirteen year old boy to be no challenge.

His mistake.

Harry punched out, a textbook uppercut. His magic responded, an upward swooping golden comet that impacted in the thin man's chest and send him flying back over the top of the hill. He heard the impact in the snow and cursing drifted back to them.

"Harry." Luna sounded far too calm. Her face was pale and her eyes wide. "Why did you attack that man?"

Harry swallowed the tight feeling in his throat and answered, "Because he's one of the escaped prisoners. His name is Bartemius Crouch."

"Very good, Potter." A different voice said. Harry spun around, hands flying up and a crackling nimbus of light springing between them. Crouch Jr was the spitting image of Crouch Sr, save the mustache. He lashed the wand in his hand at them. A ribbon of green shot across the clearing at them, full of painful death.

Harry spun, grabbed Luna, and dragged them both to the ground. He slashed out blindly with his hand as he did, retaliating with a golden lance as the green curse howled overhead to smash into a snowbank. The steam thrown up by the impact was perfect cover, Harry's brain told him. They could start running now. He hauled himself and Luna to his feet.

"Run!" he shouted, waved his hand behind them, and they tore off down the path towards Hogsmeade. Behind them the snow covering the ground rose and formed into a blizzard in miniature. It knocked Crouch Jr into his father, who had just regained his feet, and buried them in a massive pile of snow.

"What's going on?"

"Just run!" he gripped her hand tightly and hauled ass towards Hogsmeade and safety. As they ran his mind raced. How had the Crouch's found him? How'd they get into Hogsmeade? Most importantly of all, where were the rest of them?

As they rounded the corner and the little village came into view, he got his answer.

* * *

Hogsmeade burned. The flames burned so high and so hot he could feel them from there, a quarter of a mile away. The Three Broomsticks blazed, every so often a keg of something or other exploding and sending wood flying everywhere. Zonko's joke shop was so much ash and foundation. Honeyduke's was a smoldering ruin. The only building still standing, he noticed, was the old pub they weren't allowed in; the Hog's Head. As they pelted down the path, Harry found out why.

It was Dumbledore, or a man who looked a lot like him. He held off five darkly robed and sickly thin wizards singlehanded. For a man his size he moved with a duelist's grace, and his spells hit hard and fast.

"Harry, wait!" Luna hauled on his arm until they skidded to a halt. She bent over, hands on her knees, and took huge breaths of cold air. He danced on the spot, looking around constantly, anxious to be anywhere else. Movement was life. If they kept moving, they'd be all right. They had to keep moving.

"Come on," he grabbed her hand again. "We have to keep moving."

Luna took a final deep breath and drew her wand. She looked terrified and determined and beautiful. "Okay. Right behind you. What's the plan?"

"Get to the school." He took a shaky breath and tried to calm down enough to think. "As fast as we can."

"There he is!" Crouch's Jr and Sr had finally caught up. Curses flew their way, diverted into the sky by the golden shield Harry conjured.

"Go!"

* * *

They had almost made it. The gates were in sight. He and Luna had fought a running battle from the outskirts of Hogsmeade all the way up to the school. He could see teachers coming their way, shouting to each other and to was scared and cold and tired and he just wanted this over with. But there was a problem. If he was alone he could have fought. If he was alone, it would have been over.

But Luna was with him. He had to keep her safe.

_Or_, a clever corner of his tired brain whispered, _get her to_ _safety_.

That would be difficult. She and Harry were surrounded. Their opponents paced in a circle around them, throwing idle curses their directions and laughing as they dove and dodged out of the way. Harry was flagging, the margins by which the curses missed him shrunk each time.

"Give it up, Potter!" one of them shouted. He didn't know which. "You can't get away!"

"Thank you, Captain obvious!" he shouted back, wondering where he'd found the courage to banter with the people trying to kill him. "I hadn't noticed!"

"_Flipendo._" Luna murmured, having learned the hard way about shouting her incantations. The knockback jinx hit one in the chest and sent him flying. Harry took the opening, clapped his hands together and spread them. Twin comets flew left and right, pile-driving the remaining wizards into each other.

"Run!" he yelled again, and they staggered up the path to the school. Both of them were so tired and hurt that they couldn't manage much more than a jog. It was cruel, how close the gate of Hogwarts were. They were _so close_, but they wouldn't make it. The teachers were drawing closer, but they couldn't apparate on school grounds. Harry's mind took in all of these facts and came to a weary, inescapable conclusion:

_We're not going to make it_.

"Luna," he gasped out. "Keep running. No matter what happens, do not...stop. Get help. Get...safe."

"Harry, what are you-"

Harry stopped and turned to face them. They weren't all there. Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't. Her husband and brother in law were. The Crouch's were. Travers was. Finch was. So was Nott. Black wasn't, he noted with dull surprise. He stood, panting, as they spread into an arc in front of him. "Do you really think you can take us all?" Crouch Sr, the group's apparent leader, asked derisively. "You're just a boy."

Harry shrugged, then stomped the ground. Jagged spikes of earth and ice erupted from the ground, impaling Travers through the thigh and Nott through the chest. He wove a curved shield, directing the retaliatory curses up and away from him.

_Two down_, he thought grimly, running sideways to draw them away. _Five to go_.

Instinct dropped him to his knees, sliding through the slush as a green ribbon sliced the air above his head. He spun, still sliding, and gestured to the snow behind him. It rose, hardened into jagged icicles, and with a wave from him, shot forward like bullets. Most were deflected or dodged.

Finch was too slow. He stared stupidly at the icy spear in his chest and toppled over backwards. Harry was too busy watching Finch die to see the arc of black light coming at him from the side. He did take notice when it hit. Mostly because it tore a hole in his side the size of a plate. He screamed and fell, blood staining the snow bright red.

He couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't draw power through the pain.

He was pretty sure he was going to die. He could only hope that it was worth it, that Luna had gotten to safety and gotten help.

Harry breathed as deeply as he dared and watched his death stalk towards him.

* * *

Pain which suddenly and miraculously faded. He heard footsteps behind him, and raised his head to see who had helped him. Recognition shot through him like a camera flash. It was Black. None of the insanity worn by the others was present in his face. His eyes were dark and haunted, but clear. He was riddled with scars and his black hair hung lank around his face.

"Harry," Black spoke, voice sounding like a dog's growl. "I imagined this meeting for thirteen years. Must say, I never expected this."

The others were drawing closer. Harry didn't have much time, but he had to know. "Why did you do it?" he whispered. "Why did you betray my parents?"

Black's eyes became even more haunted. "That is a very long and complicated story, but the short of it is, I didn't." he pointed over Harry's shoulder towards the approaching wizards. He turned and saw a new arrival, a short fat man with a whiskery beard. "He did."

Harry took a breath, testing his side. It felt sore, but he could breath freely. He started drawing power. "When we get out of here, you're telling me everything."

Black laughed. "If we get out of here, Harry, I'll tell you everything you want to know."

"Good." With that, he stood and prepared to fight for his life. At his side stood the man who'd betrayed his parents and who had saved his life. He couldn't think about that now. The time for sorting out where the blame lay would come later. He could figure out whether or not Sirius Black deserved his hatred after the battle.

"How do you want to do this?" Black asked, and Harry noted that he wasn't much shorter than the older man. He opened and closed his hands, feeling his power flowing around his fingers. The others were closer, he could see their glowing wandtips through the blowing snow. It was a matter of moments before the fight would begin anew.

"How should I know?" Harry replied. "Do I look like a fighter to you?"

"Yes." Black said simply.

Harry swallowed. "Okay. Cover my back, I'll cover yours. Don't kill anyone unless you have to."

"How many are left?" the gaunt wizard put his back to Harry's and started scanning their surroundings.

"I got Nott, Travers, and Finch. That leaves five."

"Can we hurt them?" there was an eager snarl in Black's voice. He was starting to get the impression that Black and the other escaped prisoners didn't exactly get on.

"Feel free."

With that, Harry began fighting for his life, trusting a convicted murderer to watch his back.

* * *

"On your left!"

Duck. Spin. Punch. Watch as a massive ribbon of golden light damn near cuts one of the Lestranges in half. He dove forward from his crouch into a roll, coming up into a kneeling position. The half melted snow sticking to his fingers gave Harry an idea. "Black, watch my back!" he shouted.

"What have I been doing?" Black yelled in reply, dancing between cutting curses. Despite their imminent demise, the escaped prisoner seemed to be having the time of his life. A wide grin graced the man's canine features.

"Fine, just keep doing it!" Harry funneled his power into the snow, focusing his mind on it. Tendrils of power spread out into the drifts like a tree's roots seeking moist earth. That done, he reached out into the wind and harnessed it. The strain was massive. He felt it as a physical weight, and his skin burned as new runes etched themselves into his skin.

The magic burned inside him. It was complete and ready to be released. "Get down!" he yelled, released the magic, and fell over. He was completely exhausted. If this didn't work, he was dead. There was nothing left.

The wind picked up. A more careful observer than anyone present would have seen it circle back on itself, gaining speed as it went around and around. It tore at the feet of the remaining prisoners, causing their footing to slip and their aim to be thrown off. Harry's scarf, torn and dirty, ripped free of his neck and flew away.

Then the snow rose into the air and was swept into the circling wind. The now uncovered ground was churned by missed spells and dug in feet.

"How are you doing this?" Black howled at him over the wind.

"I'm not!" he yelled back. He wasn't. All he'd done was create the storm. It had taken on a life of its own now. He learned a quick lesson about weather just before he released it: the storm would not be contained. Not by him. Not by anyone. All he could do was keep him and Black from being blown away. "Just hang on!"

"Great plan, I was thinking of not doing that!" Black shouted back, and did the man's snark never cease?

Harry didn't know how long they crouched together at the center of his hurricane. It seemed like hours. Days. But it couldn't have been more than a few minutes at most. All he could hear in those moments was screaming winds and the odd cry of an injured man, somewhere out in the snow.

Slowly the storm exhausted itself, burning up the energy used to sustain it. The wind died and the snow fell to the ground in a solid, circular clump. Harry stood slowly. His legs shook underneath him for a moment before firming up. Black came to his side and together they saw the aftermath of what he'd done.

Rabastan Lestrange was dead. Rodolphus was unconscious, half frozen. There was no sign of Crouch Jr. Crouch Sr was upside down against a rock, both legs twisted in ways unnatural to them. The fat little man that Black said was the true traitor was mostly buried by the fallen snow, only his head and shoulders sticking out.

It was onto this scene that Dumbledore arrived. He kept his eyes on Harry as the Aurors went about trying to make sense of what they were seeing. Black had dropped his wand and knelt, placing his hands behind his head.

"I'm done running." he said. "I'm done."

Harry took long, slow breaths, fighting the nausea that was building in his stomach. He felt shaky and wanted to sit down, throw up, and cry all at the same time. Distantly he noted he was going into shock.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "what happened here?"

"Professor," sitting down seemed good, so he did. So did crying. Throwing up was still up for debate. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Dumbledore looked down at the ruins of Hogsmeade, following the curse scarred ground all the way to where they stood, terminating at the feet of a thirteen year old boy. A very unique thirteen year old boy.

"Oh, I think I might."

* * *

To Harry's surprise, the Headmaster believed him. Not only that, he was absolutely furious on his behalf. He watched Dumbledore pace around his office, mumbling to himself under his breath. He couldn't hear, but he was sure that what he was saying wasn't very nice. Finally, after a long few minutes of pacing and cursing, the old wizard sat down opposite Harry and steepled his hands.

"Harry," he said, voice hoarse and full of emotion. "I want you to know how very proud of you I am, and also how very sorry I am."

Dismissing the warm feeling that Dumbledore's pride gave him, he asked, "Why are you sorry?"

"Because as Headmaster of this school it is my job to keep the students under my care safe. I am failing at my job, Harry, and that is a feeling I do not like."

The old wizard had a look of torment on his face, to the point that Harry wanted to reassure him, to tell him that it wasn't his fault. It was a shock to realize that he would be lying if he said that. It was Dumbledore's fault. He didn't blame the headmaster, but it was his fault. "What's going to happen to Black?" he asked. Dumbledore seemed to appreciate the change in subject, and warmed to the subject.

"Sirius," he corrected gently. "is currently in the custody of Amelia Bones, whom you've met. I think it obvious at this point that the crime he went to prison for, he did not commit. The presence of Peter Pettigrew confirms that. I suspect there will be a trial and the accompanying media circus. You may be called to testify though I don't know if you'll want to."

Neither did Harry. He wasn't sure how he felt about the man. For thirteen years Black- no, Sirius, didn't exist. He was a ghost. Then he entered Harry's life in a newspaper clipping, and then he hated a man he'd never heard of before then. Months passed with that hatred building. All for nothing. Sirius was innocent. "I don't know, sir." Harry said, studying his muddy trainers. "I feel like I owe him. He saved my life, you know. Down there."

"I know," Dumbledore said, smiling a quiet smile. "and I will leave it up to you whether or not you go. It may not happen. I do know that Sirius, in the short time he knew you before, loved you more than anything on earth. Given a chance, I think, you two could rebuild some of that relationship. It is of course up to the two of you to make that happen."

"I'll think about it, sir."

"Of course." the Headmaster clapped his hands together. "Now, as I understand it, there is a feast of some size waiting for you in the Great Hall, along with some very concerned friends. Shall we go?"

Harry nodded.

"Excellent! Allons-y!"

Shaking his head slightly, he followed the old wizard to the feast, wondering what the fuss was all about.

* * *

_I can't say I was expecting that_.

It turned out the feast was for him. More specifically, it was a thank-you. He stood in the center of the Hall, surrounded by whooping, cheering students. Beyond a shadow of a doubt he knew he was bright red and he could not, for the life of him, stop laughing. He'd already received massive hugs from Neville and a _furious _Hermione (Honestly, Harry, I leave you alone for a _day_ and you burn Hogsmeade down!).

Then he turned around and saw Luna. She was smiling at him, eyes shining. The noise faded a bit in his ears as she approached him. It was only when he looked around did he realize that they actually had stopped clapping. "Hey," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"You promised." she jabbed him in the chest with her finger. "You promised you wouldn't get hurt!"

"I didn't!" he protested. What was this about? He was fine! He spread his arms to make his point. "Look! Not a scratch on me!"

"Oh, you infuriating...boy!" she shouted, seized him by the ears, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. He stood there, arms spread, getting his first ever kiss. He was pretty sure the castle could have fallen over and he wouldn't have noticed. His entire brain was screaming, _I'mgettingkissedI'mgettingkissedI'mgettingkissed. _Then it shouted,

_Kiss her back, you idiot!_

But it was too late for that, she'd stepped back. The entire Hall was dead quiet. He heard somebody drop their fork. "Well?" she demanded, "aren't you going to say anything?"

Harry shrugged helplessly, not sure where his ability to speak had gone. "Cheers."

Behind him, Hermione dropped her face into her palm.

* * *

_END CHAPTER NINE_

**Note: I wanted to end this year on a high note, seeing as it goes downhill from here. This chapter just would not end. Before I go bang my head against fourth year, I wanted to address a few things. **

**First, Harry staying at Hogwarts. Yes, he should leave. However, I wouldn't have much of a story if he did. Well, there would be, but it's not one I'm prepared to tell. So, he's not going anywhere. If I remember correctly, I dropped something about a law preventing him from going anywhere else. **

**Second, Fudge. To this I say, have patience. I haven't forgotten about him. In fact, the careful reader may find him the beginning of next year. If you have eyes, that is. **

**Third, there is no rule three. **

**Fourth, no pooftahs. **

**Before I forget, special shout-out to Joe M Lawyer. This man had the dedication(insanity?) to read all sixty thousandish words of this thing and leave me comprehensive, in depth reviews. Joe, if you haven't given up on me by now, thanks for that. **

**And with that, back to the studio. **


	11. Tournaments Aflame

**Note: Apparently flowerier is a word. Who knew? Before I wrote this this first scene, I didn't, that's for sure. Ah, the things you learn. Like, for instance; just based on reviews I've gotten, there is asimply absurd amount of Dumbledore hatred in the fandom. Which is fine, but being mad at me for not having an Evil Dumbledore(tm) is weird. **

**You know what else is?**

**I burned down Hogsmeade twice. Bad luck for it. And yes, I did do it on purpose. **

_CHAPTER TEN: TOURNAMENTS ABLAZE_

* * *

The idea had come to him in a dream, of all things. He could only half remember it, but the drive to recreate what he saw was enough to bring him out here. It was rapidly becoming the place where he did his magic when away from school; Petunia's garden. He shaped a rough outline from wet earth; the basic outline of a man. Then using his pinky, he poked two eyes into the head.

Now came the tricky part. This was the bit he wasn't sure was possible. Even for him. He made a claw with his hand and breathed into it, channeling power into his breath. The result swirled lazily in the cage made of his fingers and palm. He held it over the little mud man and willed the power down, murmuring under his breath as he did.

"_Wake_." he murmured, and his jaw dropped. The little construct's eyes lit up with a bright yellow glow and it _stood up_. It looked around the garden before spotting the open gate and making a run for it. He watched it pelt forward, slipping and sliding on the tile stone. Part of him still couldn't believe it worked.

_It worked_, the rest of him assured, _and it's also getting away, so you might want to do something about that._

The mental image of a little mud man running down Privet Drive, scaring Mrs. Number Six and her daughter's cat was enough to jolt him into action, and he ran after it. He chased it around the side of the house and was following it across the front lawn when it quite literally fell to pieces. One moment it was sprinting across the grass and the next its arms had fallen off and its legs just sort of dissolved.

He stared at the pile of earth that had once been a construct. _His _construct. He'd done it! Giving in to the urge to dance a jig, he danced up to the front door and let himself in. "Not bad for something that came to me in a dream, eh?" he asked himself. He knew he'd have to try again, only next time bigger. Or maybe more power. Or both. Yes, he decided, definitely both.

That would have to wait, though. Because in six hours Sirius was coming to get him, and they were going to something called the Quidditch World Cup in an effort to have some sort of bonding event. When he'd sold the idea to his parents, who were understandably concerned about letting one of their children run off with an ex-con for the weekend for parts unknown, he'd used much flowerier language. It had taken a lot of talking, and promises to check in with Neville and his gran, they'd given in.

Another jig was danced, this one costing him a month's allowance.

It was a stupid place to put a lamp, anyway.

One of their conditions was that they had to meet Sirius before allowing Harry to go anywhere with him. Said meeting had defined awkward for all parties, even after Vernon learned of Sirius' role in saving his son's life. Especially after that.

* * *

"Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"What are those?"

"What are...ah. _Those, _Harry, are Veela."

"And those are..."

"Wait a minute. You'll figure it out."

"..."

"Harry?"

"..."

"Haarrry?"

"_Ohhh_. Wait, I- what? Sirius! Stop laughing at me!"

* * *

The World Cup had been brilliant. No, beyond brilliant. It had been one of his best experiences in recent years. The food, the people, the tents, the sheer _size _of the place. It was just staggering. Until Harry had gone there it hadn't really hit him that there were other magical schools in the world besides Hogwarts. It seemed stupid now, but for some reason he hadn't been able to fathom the idea until the evidence almost literally hit him in the face.

The Quidditch wasn't too bad, either. Not having played the game in, well, ever kind of put a damper on really getting into it. He wasn't complaining. It wasn't as if there was nothing else there. Before the match had started Sirius had bought them a pair of something called omnioculars, which after four hours use Harry was sure should be banned for moral reasons.

That being said, the true high point of the whole thing had come after all the excitement. When the game had ended he and Sirius had returned to the tent his godfather had rented for them to use. They'd broken out the drinks- sodas for Harry, beers for Sirius- and sat down to discuss the match.

Once the empty sodas and beers had built up on the table, the conversations shifted and the mood turned somber.

"Suppose you want to know why I went to prison, eh?" Sirius asked, examining the lip of his beer. Harry shifted in his seat. Yes, he did. Very much so. The haunted look in Sirius' eyes at the mere mention of the words 'Azkaban' or 'prison' did a good job of dissuading him from asking.

"I mean, yeah. But you don't have to."

"I think I do. For both our sakes."

Harry waited for Sirius to start talking, or do...anything. When he reached for another beer, then checked the motion and sighed forcefully, Harry almost jumped.

"There were four of us, at first. Me, your dad, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew." Sirius' eyes were unfocused, lost in the past. "We were best mates for seven years. Called ourselves the Marauders. Then James met Lily. After that nothing was the same."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked. His godfather gave a sad chuckle.

"She became his world. He didn't have as much time for us anymore. I don't blame him for it, Lily had that affect on people. After school they got married, pretty much right away. Didn't surprise anyone, except maybe Lily's parents. Then came the war. I...you know what happened, right? I don't have to tell you?"

He knew. Even if he hadn't, he wouldn't have forced Sirius to bring it up because he already looked like he was moments away from bursting into tears as it was. So Harry nodded, and gestured for his godfather to continue.

"Well, that's a relief. Anyway, for some reason, Voldemort was obsessed with your parents. Tracked them down and tried to kill them no matter where they went. So, they went into hiding about a month after Lily found out she was pregnant with you."

"Why would they do that if he could find them every time? Why not fight?"

"Because everyone- _everyone_- who fought him died, Harry. I am not exaggerating when I say that there is exactly one person on this Earth who could beat Voldemort in a open fight. What's more, this time was different. This time they used the Fidelius."

Harry frowned. He'd heard that word before. Had Hermione mentioned it? Something about...secrets, maybe. "What is that?"

Sirius sighed, picked up the beer he'd passed over the first time, and took a pull. "It's an immensely complicated piece of magic. I won't bore you with the details because I don't know them, but you take a secret and you put it in a person's soul. So long as that person does not tell anyone that secret, it can never be found."

Harry put the dots together in quick succession. "Who had the secret of where my parents were?"

"_Peter_." Sirius growled, sounding almost canine in his anger. "We had the bright idea to tell everyone _I _was the secret keeper. Throw everyone off Peter's trail, see? Then he did the predictable, did Peter." he paused for a minute to calm down. "He was always a coward. I think it was the reason we made him part of us. He couldn't rat on us that way. One day Peter went to Voldemort and told him where to find your parents. He killed them, tried to kill you, and died. I went after Peter. He tricked me. Framed me. And I ended up in jail."

If someone were to ask him what he was feeling in that moment, he would have no idea what to tell you. Anger, sadness, grief, pity, hate, sympathy, relief. Fear. It dammed him up, prevented him from speaking, from doing anything.

"And now," Sirius looked...better somehow. "thirteen years later, I'm a free man. Thanks to you. Even if you don't want me in your life, I'll always have you to thank for that." The still thin wizard stood and headed towards his room.

_You're not going to leave it at that, are you? _

Harry found his voice and managed to choke out, "Sirius."

The man turned, tired and hopeful. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here."

Sirius smiled, managing to convey a bevy of emotions one gesture. "So am I, kiddo. So am I."

* * *

The silence that reigned in the kitchen of Sirius' apartment was shattered by the man himself slamming the paper down and snarling "That...utter..._bitch_!"

Harry jumped. Rita Skeeter had dumped the future of the world into his lap and left him to deal with it. He took breaths and tried to control his anger. He wasn't stupid. He knew what she was trying to do. She was using him to create fear, to make money. And he did _not _like it.

His hands shook. So did the table. And the cabinets, and the windows, and the furniture in the living room. "How could she do this?" he hissed. "How could she take all of that fear and pain and- and _twist _it like she did?"

"Harry. _Harry_. Look at me. Look. At. Me. Take a deep breath. Calm down."

Harry inhaled, filling his lungs and emptied them slowly. The rattling ceased, and the nimbus of light playing around his hands faded and though he couldn't see it, the tattoos on his face ceased to glow. "Okay," he blew out another breath. "Okay, I'm okay."

"Good." Sirius glanced warily at his cabinets, looking like he half expected them to start shaking again or maybe explode. "Rita is a parasite. She takes things and she warps them."

"Why?" Harry demanded. "Why do this?"

"To make people afraid. Scared people want to know what's going on, so they go and buy her paper. That's all that matters to her. I've met her, and I can personally say that she is one of the most distasteful human beings I've ever met, and I spent thirteen years in _Azkaban_."

Harry made noise of wordless frustration. "I don't get how she could do it. Well, that's not true. I get how, I just don't get why. Who would even think to do something like this?"

"Her." was the flat reply.

"Obviously. So what happens now? _Apparently_ I have to save the world again."

Sirius' grin was feral, lupine, and without an ounce of humor. Harry would have felt sorry for the person who had inspired that grin, but since he knew who it was, he didn't mind at all.

"Leave it to me." Sirius growled.

Rita Skeeter wasn't going to know what hit her until it was far too late to do anything about it.

* * *

Harry returned to Privet Drive to watch Sirius' retribution from a safe distance. He didn't have to wait long. The article had been released the morning after the Cup, he'd spent that weekend at Sirius', and by Monday afternoon, Rita Skeeter was suspended for six months without pay and fined for being an illegal Animagus, whatever that was. He was so involved in reading the paper's retraction that he didn't notice Hedwig's presence until she bit him.

"Ow! What was that for?" he asked, rubbing his ear. She stuck out her leg, letter attached. He got the impression she'd done the exact same thing, minus biting, several times now. He checked the envelope to see if he recognized the writing. When he didn't, his curiosity grew. "Who's it from, then?"

Hedwig hooted and turned away.

"Fine. Don't tell me. I'll figure it out myself."

If owls could snore, she did. He huffed a laugh and opened the letter, knowing the instant he read the first three words who had sent it to him.

_Hello Harry Potter, _

_No, I won't call you just Harry. You should let that go of that dream, it aches to be free. Anyway, I'm writing to tell you that after reading Rita's article, we can't be friends anymore. How could you not be everywhere in the world at the same time? How dare you fail to be omnipresent? You are Harry Potter, you can do anything. The fact that you failed to prevent rumored death just goes to prove that you are a horrible scapegoat. You rogue. _

_Seriously though, don't listen to her. She's a hag. My dad used a different word, but threatened to make me wash my quill with soap if I wrote it. He's quite odd. _

_Cheers,_

_Luna. _

Well.

That was...

There weren't words for it, really. No, there was exactly one word for it:

Luna.

Harry laughed harder than he had in days and folded up her letter. He searched for a safe place to put it, settling on his trunk. Dudley would never look there. It was only after he'd secured the parchment at the bottom did he realized what she _hadn't _mentioned. The event that had been occupying his thoughts for the better part of three months.

He snorted, and laughed again. Only Luna could write a letter like that and forget to mention that hey, she'd kind of kissed him. Twice. Once in front of the _entire _school.

Well, if she wasn't going to mention it...he'd have to. But he'd do it on the train. Better to do this sort of thing in person, right?

* * *

Harry made his way down the train. The sheer number of eyes on him was unnerving. To their credit, most weren't hostile. Merely curious. It was still more attention he'd gotten from his peers...ever. He waved his hand at his trunk, eyes flashing bright, and heard something that sounded frighteningly like a giggle. With his trunk floating half a foot off the ground behind him, he turned his head to look.

It was a giggle. Its source was a brown haired Ravenclaw who, even with his horrible memory for names, faces, and just about everything, he was sure he'd never met before. Now she and a compartment of her friends were giggling at him and blushing. The brunette waved at him and, not knowing what else to do, he waved back sheepishly. This dissolved the compartment into giggles and he hurried away.

_Weird_. He hadn't been expecting that. Just what _was _in that article, anyways? In all the furor around Sirius' reprisal he'd never actually gotten a chance to read it. And since his parents drew the line at daily owls at the house, he still had no idea what Rita Skeeter had written about him. Passing another compartment of girls, he decided that getting to a compartment without girls in it was more important than figuring out why they were giggling at him.

Luckily he found one. Unluckily, it was the very last one. The one the older years came to when they wanted to have a smoke on the back deck. As a result the whole place smelled like tobacco until Harry opened a window and blew the smell out with a small conjured breeze. After storing his trunk he settled down on a bench to wait for his friends to find him.

"Hey, mate."

"Hi, Harry!"

He sat up, grinning. Looked like he wouldn't have to wait long.

* * *

His grin faded slightly when he didn't see who he'd been gathering his courage to talk to for the past three weeks. This did not go unnoticed, to his dismay. While Neville was hoisting his and Hermione's trunks into the overhead bins, she sat across from him with an eyebrow arched. "Looking for someone?"

He smiled innocently at her. "No. Should I be?"

She huffed, an annoyed sound. Neville took the seat next to him and proceeded to not help at all. "Come on, your memory isn't that bad. You heard from Luna recently?"

Harry paused. It could be an innocent question, or it _could _be a trap. _Innocent until proven guilty, Harry_. He went with the truth. "Yeah, she sent me a letter after Skeeter's article came out. Still got it in my trunk. Hang on, I'll pull it out."

"You still have it?" Neville asked, and Hermione shared a look, before turning to him in unison. He looked bewildered between them. When had they started doing that?

"Yeah. Why?"

Another look. This was getting ridiculous. "No reason." This time Hermione spoke, and then Harry decided it was time to go on the offensive.

"So how long has this been going on?" he asked, waving between them. He grinned widely when Hermione turned very, very red and Neville started finding his shoes very interesting.

"I don't know what you're talking about, mate." Neville told him, having moved onto his shoelaces. "There's nothing going on."

"Yeah." Hermione very obviously forced a laugh. "Not at thing."

Harry nodded. "Okay. You two are horrible liars, by the way."

"I am not!" Hermione protested, proving his point.

"Anyway!" Neville said loudly at the same time, finding the courage to cease carefully inspecting his footwear. "You'll never guess what I overheard my gran talking about with Sue Bones' aunt."

Harry was going to suggest something about the prices of the new range of magical hip replacements when the compartment door opened and he rather forgot about what he'd been going to say. Because _she _had just stuck her dirty blonde head in the door, smiled at Neville and Hermione, and then focused on him. Something special entered her smile when she saw him, something that made him smile back. "Hello, Harry Potter." she said.

"Hey, Luna."

* * *

This was not what he had planned for. Harry, in the weeks he'd spent on this, had run dozens of scenarios through his mind. Some had, he freely admitted, were more realistic than others. The one where he and Luna confessed their love for each other and tore each others clothes off, for instance, was one of the less sensible ones. Regardless of their content, everything he had planned on hinged on a singular ability. One that appeared to have escaped him.

The ability to speak.

It was horrible. Luna was just..._sitting _there, looking frankly amazing, and there he was acting as if his tongue had mysteriously fallen off. It was mortifying. Beyond that, his shoes had become very interesting all of a sudden.

_Say something, Harry_.

_What do I say? _

_Anything! Just talk!_

Harry broke free from his inner argument to see Luna smiling at him. He opened his mouth to say all the things he thought of. What came out was, "Have a good summer?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Not bad. Dad and me backpacked a bit. Got _slightly_ lost near Frankfurt, ended up in Helsinki."

He frowned, confused. "Isn't- isn't Helsinki in Finland?"

"Yes!" she waved her hands about. "And we have no idea how we got there! It's driving us mad!"

Harry nodded, making a sympathetic noise in his throat. "I can imagine. Thanks for the letter, by the way. It uh, it helped."

"I figured it would." she leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. "Dad knows Rita from work, and he says that-" she turned very red "well, he says she's not very nice and we'll leave it at that."

He grinned. "What'd he say about her?"

"Oh, nothing. What was the World Cup like? Did you have a good time with Sirius?"

"Don't change the subject!" he pointed a finger at her. "What did he say about Rita?"

Luna refused to tell him. Their conversation continued, shifting from topic to topic, going so well that Harry neglected to notice two things. First, neither Neville nor Hermione ever came back to the compartment. Second, neither of them ever once mentioned their kiss.

* * *

Harry couldn't help but feel superior at moments like this. Looking around and seeing everyone wet and dripping with him warm and dry was a reminder, he thought, to enjoy the little pleasures in life. Plus, seeing Malfoy looking like a drowned albino ferret wasn't too bad. Nor was the smile of thanks that Luna shot his way for keeping her dry.

This was mitigated by the glares he was receiving from Neville and Hermione for _somehow_ forgetting that they were behind him and thus not protected by the shield. He gave them a sheepish grin and waved a hand at them. The water sheeted off their bodies and fell onto the already soaked Entrance Hall floor.

"Sorry," he said, shrugging. Then he waved past the massive double doors, through which lay food and warmth and eventually, sleep. "Shall we?"

* * *

Harry had somehow attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry without noticing that the ceiling was enchanted. _How_ he had done so was an excellent question, one that he did not have an answer to. Much to Hermione's furthered irritation.

"Seriously," she grumbled, letting Neville pull her into a seat. "do you wander around with your eyes closed and bounce off walls?"

"No." All he could offer was a sheepish grin. "Seems a horribly ineffective way to get around."

Whatever his friends no doubt irate reply was got drowned out by the apocalyptic crash of thunder from outside. It was dutifully mirrored by the ceiling _inside_, deafening everyone twice. Who said magic was misused?

"Wonder what the big deal is?" Neville asked, looking around the Great Hall. Harry, thankful that he'd diverted Hermione's attention before she could really start in on him, looked around to find that Neville was right. People were looking around suspiciously and whispering. Others had looks of superiority and in some extreme cases; smugness.

"I don't know." Harry finally answered. "But I doubt we'll have to wait long to find out."

He was wrong.

The Sorting took days. He wasn't hungry when it started but by the time it ended, he could have eaten a roast ox. It seemed like every eleven year old in Britain had mysteriously sprouted magical abilities for the sole purpose of making this take an _age_.

"Thank God that's over with," he grumbled as the ragged old Sorting Hat was taken away. "Now we eat, right?"

"Maybe not." Hermione pointed at the head table, where Dumbledore was rising to his feet. Harry groaned.

"Good evening, everyone!" the old wizard's voice carried easily to the Hall's four corners. "To our new students, welcome! To everyone else, welcome back! It fills my heart with pride to see these tables full once again. You can't imagine how quiet this place gets without you all here. Anyways, a few start of term notices before we feast on- or in some cases, devour- our excellent meal. First is that the number of banned devices has reached an impressive five hundred items. Next, and perhaps more importantly, I am sad to announce that there will be no Quidditch World Cup taking place this year."

If a pin were to drop in that moment, it would have echoed louder than the thunder. Several Gryffindors looked as if their favorite aunt had just keeled over in front of them. One of them looked like he needed a paper bag to breathe into. Neville was alternating between outrage and open curiosity. Hermione had no such issue, her face practically shone with interest.

Dumbledore seemed to survey the aftermath of his announcement before continuing. "Instead, Hogwarts will be playing host to the newly resurrected Triwizard Tournament."

Harry felt a sense of foreboding settling in his stomach. Beside him Sean- no, Seamus- elbowed him and whispered, "What's that?"

"No idea," he hissed back. "He's about to tell us, so hush."

He ignored Seamus' grumbling about being hushed and turned his attention back to Dumbeldore, who looked as if he rather enjoyed all the attention.

"Yes, for those of you who don't know what the Tournament is, I suggest you contain your curiosity for your first class on Monday. Your professors will give a brief and insightful overview about the Tournament and its history. What you need to know, as prospective competitors, is that no one under the age of seventeen will be able to compete. This-" he held up his hands to silence the roar of outrage. "this is for your own protection. Only those who have reached their seventh year of schooling will be prepared for what lies ahead.

"Second, that there will be only one competitor from each school. The other schools will be arriving in three weeks time, at which point an impartial judge will choose three champions from those who have submitted their names, which you will be able to do the day before the selection. Oh...is there anything else? Professor McGonagall?"

She shook her head, clearly fighting a smile.

"Very well. Enjoy the feast!"

_Right. Like anyone will be able to focus on _food_ after that._

* * *

In the moments after Dumbledore's announcement Harry discovered two things. Firstly, nobody knew just what the Triwizard Tournament was. They knew that it was a tournament, and it involved three champions from three different schools, but that was about it. As a result, speculation ran rife up and down the House tables. Secondly, he had _vastly_ underestimated his peers' ability to eat.

His appetite was somewhat diminished by his suspicion that he would end up involved in this Tournament in some way. He didn't know how. He didn't know why. Maybe it was extrapolation based on his run of luck at Hogwarts. All he knew was that one way or another, this was not going to go according to plan.

And that just gave him warm, tingly feelings.

Seamus elbowed him. Again. "Harry," his eyes were bright and almost...greedy. "you gonna enter?"

"Do I look seventeen?"

Seamus deflated. "Not- not really, no."

Having considered that enough of an answer, Harry returned to his food. He hoped his fellow Gryffindor got the message. He really didn't fancy getting elbowed again.

They managed to make it through dinner without anything major happening. The only event of note was how quickly he grew tired of listening to people talk about the Tournament. He was surprised how many people who weren't of age wanted to compete. Why didn't they see how horribly wrong it could go if they weren't ready for whatever was involved? When he mentioned this to Neville as they got ready for bed, all he got was a shrug.

"Reckon they haven't had quite the same experiences that you have, mate. Guess that gives you a different perspective than them."

It didn't make him feel better, but it did help him understand.

* * *

Armed with his new understanding of his fellow students, Harry came to a conclusion the day of the arrival of the other two schools.

They were _still _irritating.

It wasn't so much that they themselves were bothersome, it was their whole attitude about the thing. Still, after three weeks of stories about Tournaments of old, they could not see anything beyond eternal glory. _Alleged_ eternal glory. Nobody could even name another Triwizard Champion. Not even Hermione, who had become an overnight expert on the subject.

So he could be forgiven for being somewhat less enthusiastic about the other schools' arrival as everyone else. Right?

After class the entirety of Gryffindor house stampeded back to the tower to stow their stuff. Harry found himself being dragged, quite unwillingly, along with them. A blur of activity later, during which he may have put Neville's robes on by mistake, the entirety of Gryffindor house stampeded back _out _of the tower and out to the front lawn.

On a cool- no, _cold_- fall evening.

Once again he cursed himself for an idiot and touched both Neville and Hermione's shoulders, whispering "_Warmth_." under his breath. He looked around, spotted the dirty blonde hair he was looking for. "Be right back." he said, and dodged his way through the mass of people. Had there been an official notice he missed? When had it been decided they'd be organized by house? At any rate, after pushing his way through Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, he finally reached Luna.

"Hello, Harry Potter." her eyes shone with infectious excitement. He grinned at her, responding to both it and her easy smile. She shivered and scooted closer to him, pressing herself against his side. Of its own volition, his arm wrapped around her.

Why had he come over here again?

"It's really cold." she remarked, almost conversationally.

Oh, yeah. That's why. "_Warmth._" he murmured once more, taking an odd pleasure in her happy sigh. "Better?"

Luna tucked her head into his shoulder. "Much. Which school do you think will be arriving soon?"

Harry blinked. "Which ones are coming?"

She huffed, and he could damn near _feel _her amusement. "Durmstrang, which is a school in northern Germany, and Beauxbatons, which is a school in France. How did you not know that?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't paying attention?" he offered.

Luna was silent for a long minute before she laughed and said, "That would do it. I think Beauxbatons will arrive first."

"Well, then I think the Germans will arrive first." Harry argued.

"You're just saying that because I picked the French!"

"And?"

It was then that Dumbledore's voice once again cut through the chatter. "Unless my eyes deceive me, which they rarely do, the delegation from Beauxbatons is approaching!"

"Rats." Harry grumbled. Luna laughed, clear as a bell.

"I win!" she sang.

* * *

Beauxbatons approached. In the part of his mind _not _reluctantly caught up in the excitement he wondered if there was some worldwide wizarding decree that stated that any arrival by any group of wizards had to be as ostentatious as possible.

Case in point: A flying house.

Okay, fine. Technically, it was a carriage. But it was a carriage shaped like a manor house, flying through the air, drawn by gigantic winged horses. It was a nice flying house, but it was still a flying house. It had walls of pale blue and the roof was made of some material in silver.

"Its a dragon!" someone screamed, and Harry snorted.

"Don't be stupid, it's a flying house!" someone else shouted, and he burst into laughter. Luna elbowed him as the flying horses came to a landing, hooves the size of dinner plates kicking clods of dirt all over the place. The house/carriage came to a surprisingly gentle halt not moments later. At this close range he could make out the design on the front door; crossed wands with sparks shooting out the end.

"Do you think they're trying to make a good first impression?" Luna murmured as the door sprang open. A boy with fair skin and hair leaped out and fiddled with something underneath it. Moments later a set of stairs extended to the ground.

"What gave them away?" he murmured back.

"Not sure," Luna adopted a thoughtful look. Whatever she was going to say was lost when the first passenger aboard the massive house stepped out.

Harry's jaw dropped. This lady made Hagrid look tiny, an accomplishment in and of itself. What's more is that she made it look _good_. She had a strongly lined, aquiline face, olive skin, and deep brown hair done up in a bun. To his surprise she moved with none of the plodding inevitability of Hagrid. Instead she moved down the stairs with trained elegance. She even offered her hand to Dumbledore for a kiss. "Dumbledore!" she purred. Her voice was throaty and warm. "Is is truly a pleasure to see you again, _mon ami_."

"And you, Madame Maxime." was the old wizard's reply as he swept off his hat and dropped the barest of kisses on her massive hand. "Are your students prepared? We've quite the welcome planned, and I'm eager to show it off."

Maxime waved a hand behind her, evidently the signal to disembark. What followed was a parade of of beautiful people, all of them blonde haired and blue eyed. One, perhaps the most appealing of them all, created a certain feeling he was familiar with. Beside him Luna had tightened her grip on his ribs. He leaned down and whispered, "I think one of them is a Veela."

"Oh?" her voice was far too casual. "How do you know?"

He shrugged. "The Bulgarians had them as mascots. They made me go all weird for a minute, but after that, I got better."

"Do you think she's pretty?"

And there it was. "Yeah," he said, "but you're prettier."

"Oh." Luna snuggled back into his arm and he could feel her satisfaction. "Cheers."

Harry groaned. He wasn't ever going to live that down, was he?

* * *

Durmstrang's arrival was even more of a spectacle than a flying house.

The first indication that this might be the case was a sound not unlike the plug being pulled from a very full bathtub, magnified beyond loud. Which naturally drew Harry's attention to the lake, where something odd was occurring. "Luna," he said, "is there a whirlpool in the middle of the lake?"

"You know, I think there might be."

"Oh. Good. I thought I was going mad."

"That's still up for debate." she giggled at the offended look on his face.

The noise was like that of a waterfall. Thousands of gallons of rushing water made a hell of a racket, one that even Dumbledore couldn't shout over without magical aid. "And this is the delegation from Durmstrang!" he called, but Harry wasn't listening. He was more focused on the fact that a ship seemed to be appearing from the center of the whirlpool.

The ship was very much the opposite of the Beauxbatons carriage. The ship was dark and dank and foreboding. If someone had cut a figure of a ship from black paper, the end result would look a lot like the Durmstrang ship. There were no school colors, just a flag with a red crescent moon on a black field.

The ship made landfall with a crash, a gangway descended, and the Durmstrang students approached. They were led by a tall, thin man who as he drew closer Harry saw had an unfortunate goatee. His instinct about people said that this man was not as friendly as the smile he wore. It didn't even reach his eyes. "Dumbledore!" he called, voice full of false cheer. "What a pleasure to see you again!"

"And you, Igor." Dumbledore shook the other man's hand. "Welcome to Hogwarts. We have a feast prepared, if you would to proceed inside."

"That would be wonderful, thank you." Igor said, drawing a surly looking boy to his side. "It's been some time since Viktor ate, and I don't want him to lose his strength."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he said, "I would not be able to live with myself should such a tragedy occur. Shall we?"

Harry and the rest of Hogwarts followed the Durmstrang students inside. He wondered where Dumbledore had gotten the ability to mask his sarcasm so well. Maybe the old wizard would teach him. It seemed a useful skill to have.

* * *

"Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"How long were we out there?"

" Oh...I don't know. Thirty minutes?"

"How did _this _happen in thirty minutes?"

"I have no idea."

The Great Hall had been transformed. The normal house tables had been removed, as had the head table. Instead a massive round table took up the entire hall. It had enough seats for everyone involved in the tournament and their mother. On the walls hung the banners of all four houses, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Food, some of which Harry had never seen before, was piled so highly on the round table that he was sure he could hear it groaning.

"Ooh! Bouillabaise!" Hermione said brightly. Acting as if her words were a starter's pistol, the students of three schools descended on the food.

* * *

Harry pushed back his plate around the same time that Dumbledore stood and called for silence. Somehow he'd managed to end up trying a piece of everything, even the platters on the other side of the table. He was half convinced that they moved when no one was looking. "Can I have your attention, please?" Dumbledore let out a firecracker from the tip of his wand when that didn't work. "Thank you. Now that our stomachs are pleasantly full and our guests have arrived, I think it time I formally introduce them. To my left, Madame Olympe Maxime and the Beauxbatons School of Magic!"

The massive, olive-skinned woman stood, her students rising with her.

"And to my right, Headmaster Igor Karkaroff and the Durmstrang Institute of Sorcery!"

Harry dutifully applauded with everyone else, wondering all the while why he found Karkaroff so unlikeable. The goatee wasn't _that_ bad, so what was it?

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore applauded along with everyone else. "Welcome, welcome, one and all! Now, as I said at the beginning of term, for tonight and tomorrow students _only _aged seventeen or older are allowed to give their names to our impartial judge. Mr. Filch should be arriving with it now."

Harry had enough time to think, _it?_, before the surly caretaker entered the Hall with what looked like a casket under his arm. As if on cue, the lights in the Hall dimmed, lengthening the shadows and creating an air of almost-mystery. Filch set the casket on a podium that had certainly not been there moments before and opened it, removing from inside a large, roughly cut wooden goblet.

In itself that wasn't out of the ordinary. What _was_ was that it seemed to be full of flames. Beside him, Hermione gasped in recognition. "Harry!" she hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. "That's the-"

"Ladies and gentlemen," Dumbledore's voice rumbled with a solemnity and power Harry had rarely seen before. "Allow me to present the Goblet of Fire."

* * *

_END CHAPTER TEN_

**Note: Remember when I said I'd be dealing with Fudge in this chapter? I lied. I thought I would, and all that spilled out instead. So sorry about that, but you'll see soon enough what happened to him. As to how our reluctant hero ends up involved in the Tournament, well...that would be telling, wouldn't it? Also, feel free to tell me if I misspelled the name of that French dish. Bouillabaise? I just eyeballed it, so I have no idea if I did it right. **

**Anyway, see you soon with chapter eleven. **


	12. Tournaments Aflame, II

**Note: _Insert Author's Note here. _Seriously, though, this chapter covers the Selection of Champions and Other Things of Varying Importance. Thought not necessarily in that order. So enjoy. **

_CHAPTER ELEVEN: TOURNAMENTS AFLAME, II_

* * *

Harry, in the moments since the Goblet of Fire lit, had started having difficulty breathing. It felt like a very large dog was sitting on his sternum. That strange extra sense for magic he had was overloading. Dumbledore was finishing up his announcing the official beginning of the Tournament. Not that Harry heard. He stared, gasping for breath, and came to an inescapable conclusion:

The Goblet was alive.

Maybe not like him or a dragon but it lived nonetheless. He wondered if anyone could hear its heart like he could; _thrum...thrum...thrum_. It was a physical presence that no one but him could feel. At first he felt awed. Then worried as his senses swam. Then finally, nauseous as the sheer power exuded by the simple looking cup overwhelmed him.

He dropped his head to the table and took slow, deep breaths- as deep as he could with the Saint Bernard on his chest.

"Harry?" Hermione had, bless her soul, noticed that something may be wrong with him. Her hand soothed its way across his back. "Are you okay?"

"Unnhh." he managed, shaking his head and wondering how on Earth he was going to get out of here without vomiting.

"Mate?" Neville wasn't as touchy-feely as Hermione. Concern tinged his voice. "What's going on?"

More than once he considered just puking everywhere and having done with it. Only the notion that it probably wouldn't help in the end prevented him. Instead he marshaled his willpower, focused on the cool wood on his forehead and mumbled "Goblet.", hoping that Hermione's keen mind would put the dots together.

His hope was well-founded. It didn't take her more than thirty seconds. She gasped. "The Goblet! Of course!"

"Eh?" Neville blinked. Hermione huffed. Harry was convinced that the only thing keeping her from going full on lecture was her worry for him. He appreciated this.

"The Goblet of Fire," she recited quickly, "is an enchanted object of _immense _magical power. Now, who do we know that has a unique connection to magic and might- just _might_- be sensitive to that sort of thing?"

Neville paled. "Ah, hell."

"Mmh." Harry groaned, trying to convey his agreement without opening his mouth.

Thankfully for him and everyone around them, they were finally- no, _gloriously _dismissed for bed.

He _may _have had to be supported out between his friends, but the important thing was that he got out of there. Each step away from the Goblet helped, and by the time he reached Gryffindor tower its presence registered like a mosquito bite; present, but only irritating if he focused on it.

What he would do in the morning was a different question. One he was decidedly not thinking about.

* * *

Thankfully Harry was able to get a decent night's sleep. As he woke to the devious faces of his housemates, he saw he was going to need it. If he'd been paying attention- or capable of doing so- on the way up last night, he would have heard them grousing about not being able to enter the Tournament. Since he wasn't paying attention, he had to be told by Neville.

"You're kidding."

Neville shrugged. "Wish I was, mate. Overheard Ron and Dean planning to get hold of some Aging Potion and trying to trick Dumbledore's Age Line." Harry laughed at this. "I know, it's not the cleverest idea, but they're dead set on trying. You hungry?"

"Starving," he replied, still chortling, before he remembered something. "On second, I might not eat today."

"Eh?" Neville blinked. "Why?"

"Because the Goblet is in the Entrance Hall. It doesn't like me."

His friend had the facial expression of one having just realized he missed the obvious, which made Harry laugh again. "Right," Neville's ears were slightly pink. "forgot. Sorry."

"It's okay, really. Just... you have any ideas about how I can get food without going to the Great Hall?"

Neville frowned thoughtfully before shaking his head. "Sorry, no. I'll ask around, though. You do realize you're going to have to go near it tonight, right? Selection ceremony and all that?"

Harry waved his hand in absentminded-_not dismissive_- manner. "I'll worry about that when I get there. I'll see you in class."

"Right." Neville looked reluctant to leave Harry behind. "I'll bring you a bacon sandwich or something, yeah?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah. Thanks, mate."

They split ways outside the portrait. Harry went to entertain himself for the free hour he had before class, and Neville to find both food for himself and a way to get access to said food without going near the Great Hall.

* * *

"Good morning class."

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall!"

"Now, as you're all aware, last night the Goblet of Fire was revealed. Since our illustrious headmaster did not give you a comprehensive history of the Tournament last night, the beginning of this class period has been set aside for that purpose. If you have questions after this, direct them to Madam Pince in the library."

This is the history of the Triwizard Tournament.

Wizards, being capable of bending reality to their will, were and are not very trusting of other people with this ability. This has made them, over the years, rather xenophobic. This ideal of insularity was carried over into the school systems. Each magical school is different to the other and very proud of this fact. Their locations are a guarded secret by the country's government.

For centuries they operated in isolation and ignorance of each other. But as the world grew smaller they would inevitably clash. On a cold November morning in 1099, this exact thing happened. Students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang ran into each other in a forest. Nobody survived the confrontation, and the forest was burnt to the ground.

This pattern continued for two decades, and was encouraged by some of the more bloodthirsty heads of school and state. In the halls of government thoughts of war fermented in the shadows. To prevent this, a representative from the three largest- and therefore strongest- schools in Europe met in secret and came up with a plan.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't ideal. They weren't even sure it would _work_. But after six months of escalating tension, the Triwizard Tournament was born. Every fifty years one the three schools would host the other two for six months. From each school a champion was chosen, and three tasks were devised by the heads of the schools.

And, as the Tournament's creators watched and hoped, the first one took place in 1126. Every single champion was killed before the second task was completed. The second Tournament saw a single champion die. As the years passed and more rules fell into place the death toll dropped. It never vanished, and as time passed death became as much a part of the Tournament's story as it purpose to prevent it.

This year was the fiftieth since the last Triwizard Tournament. This time it was Hogwarts' turn to host.

* * *

Harry watched the faces of his classmates as Professor McGonagall finished her brief history lesson. To his relief, most of them looked like they had just abandoned their plans of becoming the youngest Triwizard Champion in history. However, to his dismay the others- the ones who still wanted to enter and win presumed eternal glory- looked more determined than ever. He groaned softly and glared at Neville, who had just elbowed him. "What?" he hissed.

"I think you might have a point."

"About the Tournament?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

Someone cleared their throat. He and Neville paled. A Scottish voice said, "Excuse me."

Harry turned bright red and looked sheepishly at a stern-faced Professor McGonagall. "Sorry, Professor."

His ears were still burning when he picked up his pen. Maybe now people would let go of this stupid idea they had of entering. He doubted it, but class was starting and he was for once grateful for it.

Anything _not _to do with the Tournament at this point would be a welcome distraction. In the corner of his parchment he scribbled a note to himself to speak with McGonagall after class about his unique reaction to the Goblet. Maybe he could be excused from dinner or something.

"And now that I've sufficiently explained the Tournament none of you are able to enter, let's begin today's material. If you remember from your readings last night, which I certainly hope you did- Mr. Weasley- you'll know that the purpose of Switching Spells was originally a practical joke. It's more dangerous use was discovered when an irate shopkeeper Switched a thief's heart with a stone..."

* * *

Harry waited until his classmates had filed out of the room before approaching McGonagall's desk. She seemed unaware of his presence and was doing something officious looking with papers on her desk. He fidgeted nervously with his backpack strap and made his way to her desk. When he was a few feet away she said without looking up, "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

Instead of saying what he meant to, he asked, "How'd you know it was me?"

McGonagall tapped the side of her nose. "Animagus, Mr. Potter. Cats have an excellent sense of smell. Now, what is it you need?"

"I was er, hoping..." Why was he having so much trouble with this? _Spit it out, Harry. _"Could I be excused from the selection ceremony tonight?"

Professor McGonagall set her pen down, removed her glasses, and looked up at him. Instead of the doubtful frown he'd been expecting, she wore only a look of curiosity and slight worry. "Why would you want to?"

"Well," his fingers tapped a rhythm free beat on his backpack strap. "it's not that I _want _to, so much, it's more that I can't get anywhere near the Goblet of Fire without feeling like I want to vomit everywhere. Professor."

McGonagall blinked. "Oh. I- oh. Do you have any idea why such a thing is occurring?"

Harry shrugged helplessly. "Not a one. Wish I did so I could do something about it, but...no such luck, professor."

She deliberated. He could see it happening. He could even, if he tilted his head and squinted, see the evidence she was using in her argument. Against him was the fact that he was a teenager in a school of the same, who would do anything to get out of a mandatory event. Including faking sick. Supporting his case was the fact that he was _Harry Potter_, and things that shouldn't/couldn't happen often did around him.

That, and the last time she didn't have his best interest in mind, he almost died.

So it was to be expected that Harry had no idea at all what she would say. Though he hoped it would be something along the lines of 'You don't have to go, Mr. Potter.'.

"I'll speak to the Headmaster on your latest peculiarity, Mr. Potter. You're excused from the selection ceremony tonight. I'll have a house-elf bring your dinner to the common room. Is there anything else?"

"No, professor. Thank you."

There was something approximating a smile on the stern witch's features. "You're quite welcome. Now, you're going to be late for Charms, so I suggest you hurry."

Harry checked the wall clock behind Mcgonagall's desk to see that she was, lamentably, right. "Rats." he swore, and tore out of the room. He left behind him a woman yet again with a Harry Potter Problem on her mind. She went to the fireplace and threw a fistful of powder into it. The flames roared and turned emerald green.

"Headmaster? It's Minerva. Mr. Potter just left my class after informing me of an odd effect the Goblet seemed to be having on him."

* * *

Harry made his way through the rest of the day's classes feeling lighter. A burden had been lifted from his shoulders, one that, despite his easy dismissal early with Neville he had been rather worried about. Now, though, he didn't have to go near the Goblet. He didn't have to feel that wretched again. He grinned happily all the way up to the common room, barely noticing the air of excitement that seemed to permeate the school.

He gave the password to get in("Palindrome"), and ducked into the common room. It was packed, more people than he'd seen in it since second year were taking up every available surface and some were seated on the floor. Now, had his been very good and saved him a seat, or would they be getting coal for Christmas?

"Harry!" Hermione waved to get his attention. She and Neville had commandeered a trio of armchairs by the window. He waved back and excuse-me'd his way through the packed room, flopping into a chair with a grateful sigh.

"For the record," he said, leaning his head back. "sprinting from Transfiguration to Charms? Not fun."

Hermione looked perplexed, which was rare. "Why on Earth would you do that in the first place?"

Harry kicked his backpack in an idle sort of way. "I stayed behind to ask McGonagall if I could be excused tonight."

"And? Did she say yes?"

He smiled. "She most certainly did. I am looking at a puke-free evening tonight!"

Neville held out a hand, which Harry shook. "Congratulations."

"Thanks, mate." Harry said, grinning. Hermione huffed.

"Honestly. It's good that you'll be excused, but at the same time you're missing an important cultural event."

Harry shrugged. "I'll watch the movie version."

"Eh?" Neville then required an explanation from Hermione about what exactly a movie was. It was long and in-depth like everything she did, which led Harry to stop listening. Instead he made plans for what he would be doing instead of feeling like the Goblet of Fire was trying to smother him to death. It had been a long time since he'd been to the owlrey. He was due for a visit.

So that's what he'd do. While everyone else was oohing and aahing over the Tournament, he'd spend a quiet evening not doing that.

He could hardly wait.

* * *

Harry had noticed last night that the farther he got from the Goblet, the less he felt its effect. Just now he found- finally- a place where he couldn't feel its presence at all. The little mosquito bite it had become had faded into the back of his mind, so its final absence felt _wonderful_. Up here with the owls and the cold, Scottish wind, he was free.

Cold. But free. He warmed the air around him with a thought and watched the sun set with no other objective in mind than to do just that. He'd never been the most patient of people- just ask Petunia- but something about this place; height, wind, view, company, or maybe all of those just set him at ease and slowed him down.

The sun had set, and the stars were coming out. He wondered if the selection ceremony had begun yet, and if anyone had noticed that he wasn't there. There was so much pomp and circumstance going on that he doubted anyone had. One person would be hard to find out of everyone in the Great Hall, even if they _were _Harry Potter. The stars continued to rise and the owls took wing six or eight at a time, presumably to hunt, when Harry began to feel something odd.

The hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end. The wind had died, but he felt something brushing at the very edges of his skin. The wall nearest him was lit by the glow the runes on his face suddenly took on. His hands clenched of their own volition, and then it got worse. With a sound like a cracking whip an angry, invasive _something _rammed into Harry and wormed its way into him.

It was a matter of moments to figure out why this...presence was so familiar. It was like the Goblet, only pissed off, and it was _immense_. It tore through his first, feeble attempts at defending his mind and dug deeper into him, searching for something- he didn't know what. Blessed instinct snapped walls of golden power in front of the Goblet's battering ram. So focused was Harry on his internal battle that he didn't notice the air around him shimmering or the crackling amber electricity around him. The first set of walls collapsed and he drew more power, this time to counter the Goblet's ram head on with one of his own.

The owlrey shook. Harry ground his teeth and dug his nails into his palms. He considered himself an even-tempered man, but this wooden cup was doing its absolute best to _piss him off_. And now, as he deadlocked the Goblet inches from its goal, it had finally succeeded. A feral growl rumbled in his throat as he drew more and more power. The runes on his face burned- he could feel them spreading down his neck and up into his hair.

_This thing will not have me_.

He called on everything he had. Behind him every perch in the owlrey shattered. The splinters turned to sawdust, burst into flame, and then vanished. The struggle between him and the Goblet lit the area around him with a brilliant amber glow. The owls circled outside, hooting and barking and screeching.

In Harry's mind, the battle was intensifying. Had he been able to notice, he would have seen the stones of the owlrey beginning to crack and crumble. The entirety of him was focused on halting the inexorable progress of the Goblet's terrible power. Mortar broke, stones fell hundreds of feet, hitting the earth like meteors. Harry fought on.

The owlrey door exploded inwards towards him. The debris stilled in the air, freezing as if in ice. Blood dripped from Harry's palms, his nails had broken skin and still he dug them in. "Harry!" he heard as if from underwater. He cracked his eyes open and saw through shimmering air Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Moody.

He couldn't spare a moment for them. The Goblet's assault had intensified, its force hunching him over. His deadlock was failing. It was too strong. For all of his power, the Goblet had more. For all of his determination, it had a single-minded relentlessness he couldn't shake. He dug deep, deeper than he'd ever searched for power and threw at it all he had left. Thunder cracked, lightning tore stones free from the walls and Harry howled as the Goblet finally broke through. It hammered down his defenses and wrapped its presence around him- binding him in phantasmal chains.

Then he could feel it in his mind.

_Thrum...thrum...thrum..._

It was deafening. It was agonizing.

It had him.

He blacked out.

* * *

Harry woke to an empty hospital, which was a first. He blinked the gummy feeling out of his eyes and tried to sit up. This proved to be a mistake, as every bone in his body ached. His muscles felt like he'd started training for the Olympics and he had a vicious migraine. Worst of all, he could still feel the Goblet's presence in his mind. Its heart still beat. Muted, lesser, not as painful, but it was still beating.

He licked his lips and tried to speak, managing to croak, "H-hello?" he swallowed, working a dry throat, and tried again. "Hello?"

No response. Which was weird. Madam Pomfrey seemed to have a mystical sixth sense for her patients, one that alerted her to any change in their condition. So when he first woke she should have been all over him. The fact was that she wasn't, and that was worrying.

He had just decided to groan and gasp his way into standing when the hospital doors swung open and in stormed three people(two of which he was familiar with) in the middle of a massive argument. Their voices blended together in a tumultuous roar, leaving a beleaguered Harry to catch snippets of what they were saying.

"...compete, his name came out of the Goblet! By law, he a competitor!" This was from the person he didn't recognize. McGonagall actually stumbled at the suggestion.

"Are you out of your mind?" she demanded. "He's only..."

"...must insist you take this argument elsewhere." Madam Pomfrey demanded. "He's _resting_, for God's sake..."

"...Dumbledore would not allow-"

"Then where is he?" the unknown figure sounded triumphant. "Why hasn't he come to see young Mr. Potter here?"

"Because, _you _insisted he stay and repair the damage to the Goblet, _Minister_." McGonagall snarled.

It was at this point that the three arguers noticed that Harry was awake and completely bewildered. Feeling the pressure of three sets of eyes on him, their voices still ringing in his ears, he could only give a tiny wave- which hurt- and say, "Hi."

"Mr. Potter," the unknown man and supposed Minister said, smiling and making his way towards Harry's bed with a hand outstretched. He was blonde, sort of tawny colored, with strong, leonine features and pale green eyes. "my name is Rufus Scrimgeour, and I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Harry sighed in defeat and slumped back into his pillows. McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey came to his bedside, the former glaring openly at Minister Scrimgeour. "What's happened this time?" he asked, wishing he didn't ache so much.

"Well, your name came out of the Goblet of Fire," Minister Scrimgeour began. Harry groaned.

"So I'm a competitor."

"Yes, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said gravely, clearly blaming Scrimgeour for the whole thing. "I'm afraid that you are now the fourth champion of the Triwizard Tournament."

_Oh, is that all?_

"Well, that's just _great_."

* * *

While he was digesting this new, latest piece of 'Harry is Luck's Footstool/Chamberpot' , Dumbledore showed up. He looked as angry as Harry felt. Electric blue eyes _burned_ as the old wizard appeared at Harry's bedside as if he'd always been there. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Hurt, sir." Harry grunted. Dumbledore's eyes crinkled, just a little.

"I can imagine. Fighting the Binding would be a strain."

He sat up as much as he could. Memories of the feeling of the Goblet crawling into his mind turned his stomach and flared his runes. "It was. I hear my name came out of the Goblet. I didn't enter myself. Does that mean I have to compete anyway?"

Dumbledore produced his wand from somewhere and conjured a comfortable looking chair, into which he sank with a grateful sigh. "Ah. Much better. Forgive an old man, Harry. What you want to know will take time to explain. Professor, will you please escort the Minister to my office? I'll swing by after I've finished speaking with Mr. Potter."

McGonagall frowned, but did as asked. Minister Scrimgeour, it must be said, did not go quietly. But he did leave, and after Madam Pomfrey excused herself back to her office, they were alone. Once they were, any appearance of vitality or youth left Dumbledore, leaving only the tired, old strength behind. "I am sorry, Harry. Once again I have failed you."

Harry's jaw flexed. "Yes. But you haven't answered my question."

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his nose where the bridge had sat. "The Goblet Bound you to it until you have completed the terms of its contract. In other words, you either compete in the Tournament, or it takes your magic. And if I am correct about the relationship between yourself and magic, this will be fatal. That being said, there is good news."

_Deep breaths, Harry. Deep breaths_. "And what is that?"

The old headmaster managed to look both terribly proud and sad at once. "Because you fought the Binding and were more successful than would otherwise be possible, it is incomplete. I believe that refusing to compete would not kill you."

Relief flooded Harry and his tired, sore body relaxed. "I'll do that, then." Dumbledore held up a cautionary hand.

"There is a problem, however. While incomplete the Binding will still attempt to exact a cost for your noncompliance. It won't be lethal, but it will be incredibly painful."

Harry flinched. He remembered Carrow and the pain she brought. "How incredibly painful?"

"If I'm correct, Harry, something akin to the Cruciatus."

Harry was quiet for a long minute. "So I either compete, risking my life and inviting pain, or I don't and have to deal with unbearable pain?"

"Succinctly put, and also true."

"Okay." Harry said, voice strained and eyes shining. "I want to talk to my parents now."

Dumbledore's smile was sad and soft. "Of course, Harry. I'll contact them immediately."

* * *

Harry had retreated to the owlrey after being released from hospital. Twenty minutes after he settled in, his parents found him. He stood across from them, staring out the window. He didn't respond to their voices until he felt Petunia's warm hand on his shoulder. He turned and threw herself into his arms- his tears had finally spilled over. Now that they had come there was no stopping. Curled into his mother's arms, he had no desire to.

It was a long time before he calmed enough to tell them anything. It was a longer time before he wanted to. It he had looked up he would have seen Vernon try several times to talk and then falter, unsure of what to say. The safety of Petunia's shoulder was more important. When he had cried himself out and pulled himself together- as much as he could- he looked up. The first thing he saw was Vernon's concerned face.

"Are you all right, son?"

Harry snorted halfheartedly. "Not remotely. I mean, this is just the latest screwed up thing to happen to me."

His father's eyes foretold the gentle reminder he was about to receive. "We talked about this before you came back. What changed?"

A surge of emotion, too strong and fast to be identified, surged within him. He snapped, "What changed is that I was forced into something that could kill me against my will! What's different is that I don't want to be here anymore! I- I love this place, and the people in it, but...I can't pay the price anymore."

Over his head, he could _feel _Petunia's reproving look at her husband and took a sort of vengeful satisfaction from that, about which he immediately felt guilty. "Sweetie," she said gently, brushing her fingers through his hair. "Professor Dumbledore told us what happened."

"So you know I either compete or feel like I'm being tortured?" Harry mumbled into her shirt. "And if I compete I might be killed?"

"...yes." her reply was soft, worried. She hated this as much as he did, but she didn't have to feel...like this. Like something had been taken from him. He swallowed the most recent lump in his throat and blinked back the tears.

"So what do I do?" he asked, taking the hand his dad offered and squeezing hard. "It's not like I have good choices, here."

"No, you don't." Vernon said, returning Harry's pressure on his hand gently. "Do you want my opinion?"

"God, yes."

"Compete."

Harry whipped his head up and said- in time with Petunia, "_What?_"

Vernon bore his wife's furious glare stoically. "Either you take certain, nearly unbearable pain or you go and you do everything you can to win this thing. I know you, son. You can play this game, and you can win."

"How can you say that, Vernon?" Petunia demanded, clutching Harry to her tightly. He grunted at the pressure, but paid it no other mind. He was turning his dad's words over in his head. Vernon had a point. Even if the other champions were three years older than him. Even if the tasks were designed to test the abilities of the best of his peers. Even if there was an astronomic death toll.

He could do things others couldn't. The Tournament was a test of magic, and _that_ he had in spades.

Could he do it? Could he play the game and win?

Maybe.

His parent's were arguing over his head. Well, it was more like Petunia was berating Vernon for being careless enough to risk_ their _son in a tournament that had claimed lives, for God's sake! "Mom." he tried to say, but his hoarse throat made it more a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Mom."

"- and I truly don't understand_ why _you think he can do this! You heard what Albus said! This..thing, this _stupid little game_ kills people! Did you ask how many champions died? Thirty! Thirty people, _older than Harry_, have died trying to win!"

"Mom!"

"-I don't like the options any more than you or he does, Vernon, but we have to think about what we know he can handle! I-"

"_**Mom!**_"

Petunia gasped. Harry took her surprise as an opportunity to scramble free of her arms and stand. His feet stung pins-and-needles as feeling returned. His parents were looking up at him with a mixture of fear, worry, shock, and expectation. "I'm doing it." he declared, voice shaky.

"What?" Petunia said, rising and grasping his shoulders. "What are you saying, sweetie?"

Harry took a breath and felt something approaching courage firming his nerves. "I'm doing it. I'm going to compete. Dad's right. Whoever's designing this Tournament didn't count on me, or what I can do. I don't like. In fact, I fucking hate it-" it was a mark of Petunia's shock that he wasn't fined a pound "- but I'm going to do it. I'm going to play the game, and I'm going to win."

His parent's faces were completely different with each other. Vernon was proud- proud and worried. Petunia was fearful, fueled by worry and concern, but Harry could see embers of the same pride his dad carried kindling inside her. "Are you sure?"

Harry smiled, a humorless gesture. "No. But this is how it's got to be."

"I'm proud of you, son." Vernon said huskily, eyes mysteriously shiny. He allowed his parents to hug him, wishing for the days that their pride would be enough to see him through what was to come.

It would help, but it wouldn't be enough. The rest was up to him.

* * *

Harry returned to Gryffindor tower fully expecting the Hogwarts Rumor Mill to have spread the story of his selection and gotten every single thing wrong. Unsurprisingly, the main contributor to the Mill; a pretty, Indian looking girl whose name escaped him, was giving him a rather vicious look. So were, to his continued lack of surprise, those who were plotting to enter the Tournament.

It was as if they were angry with him for having done to him what they planned to do to themselves. Even with the turmoil of emotions surrounding him, he knew that was idiotic and paid their looks no mind.

Was wasn't surprising was the reaction of the rest of his house. The older students were looking at him with sympathy and pride, the younger ones with awe. He would have preferred they leave him be entirely, but absent that, this would do just fine. He made his way through the silent common room to the three armchairs he, Neville, and Hermione had long since claimed as theirs. They were occupied, thankfully, and he fell into the open one with a grateful sigh.

"Professor McGonagall told us what happened, Harry." Hermione said quietly, concern evident on her face and in the fact she had Neville's hand in a death grip. "How are you feeling?"

Harry shrugged. "Like I don't know which way is up. I mean, I'm dealing, and I have to compete, but I'm not happy. Not by a long shot." he sat up as something occurred to him. "Hang on, I don't even know what the first...thing is. Task. Quest. Whatever."

"You're feeling like your freedom was taken from you." Neville said in a moment of insight that left Hermione gaping.

"Yeah. Pretty much."

"I know what that feels like." Neville said, and Harry believed he did. Maybe it was the eyes or the way he sat, but he knew that he had a friend who knew exactly how it felt to have choice taken away from him.

"How's everyone else going to handle this?" he asked, wanting to change the subject but not knowing what else to discuss. Hermione winced, but answered.

"They either support you, hate you, or don't care. Luckily, the 'hate you' camp is small; most of the hardcore Potter Haters and people who listen to or read Skeeter's articles. Your supporters are just about everyone else. And," she blushed. " and I don't know anything about the people who don't care because they didn't say anything."

Harry smiled. "Well, they wouldn't, would they?"

"No, I suppose not." she conceded, then started giggling. Neville joined them soon after. It was a catharsis, a moment where he could shake off the remnants of an emotional storm. It was good enough to get him through the night.

Tomorrow...

Well, he'd deal with tomorrow when it came.

* * *

_END CHAPTER ELEVEN_

**Note:I chose to end the chapter here because after this I plan to get wordy and pedantic. Well, wordy, anyways. I don't think I've ever been pedantic. Next chapter, more plot happens and Harry goes up against...stuff. I can't tell you, because it's stupid when you spoil the next chapter in the Author's Notes. I say this, like I haven't done that exact thing before. Anyway, until then. **


	13. Tournaments Aflame, III

**Note: If you have an idea about what one of the tasks should be or really any other ideas, please...write a story. There's a shortage of decent stories in this world. Fix this problem. **

_CHAPTER TWELVE: TOURNAMENTS AFLAME _

* * *

The day after he was forcibly entered in the Tournament, Harry learned a few things he missed while in hospital, recovering from the Goblet's attempt to kill him. First; that he had two weeks to prepare for some unknown task. Second; no matter how many different people or ways he asked, no one would tell him what it was. Third and finally; he was pretty sure he had just been stolen by Luna Lovegood.

How had he arrived at this conclusion? Simple.

She'd told him.

"I'm stealing you." she had said, before doing just that. Which was how they'd ended up out under a tree by the lake, as far from the school as they could get without going into the forest. He had ended up- by some mysterious girl magic, no doubt- acting as a sort of pillow/blanket combination. Luna was seated between his spread legs, back to his chest, with his arms wrapped around her middle. The side of her head rested against his cheek.

It was, overall, _very_ pleasant.

He was feeling very content, so when she turned her head to say something, and brought her beautiful looking lips within millimeters of his own, less attractive set, he could maybe be forgiven for kissing her instead of listening to what she had to say.

Kissing Luna was...well, he didn't have anything to compare it to. Her earlier kisses were nice- more than that, but this was a wholly different experience. The ones before this were brief, lip-to-lip contacts that were over before he really registered they'd begun in the first place.

This wasn't that.

This was _nowhere near _that.

She overwhelmed him. Her presence alone was driving him mad. The warmth of her body, her arms looped around his neck. The steady, rhythmic euphoria of her lips moving against his. It was as close to perfection as he'd ever been.

So, naturally, it had to be interrupted.

"Um, excuse me?"

* * *

They broke apart. For a brief moment nothing else existed. Just her. Just her eyes. She blinked up at him; slowly, eyes half-lidded and a darker shade of her usual bright silver. He saw in them questions, answer, promises, things he couldn't fully understand but wanted so desperately to.

Then he remembered why they had stopped kissing in the first place. With one final, stolen peck- he didn't know which of them moved first- he turned to see who had interrupted them. It was someone he'd never seen before, who looked small enough to be a first-year. He fidgeted nervously with his fingers, and his eyes never left Harry's face.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, as Luna turned a bright red and buried her face in his shoulder. The boy danced from foot to foot like he had to use the bathroom. Harry was slightly concerned for the kid. He looked like he was about to explode.

"I'm uh, I'm supposed to- to retrieveHarryPotterfortheWeighingoftheWands."

Harry blinked. "What?" the first year took a deep breath, looked somewhat calmer, and repeated himself, more slowly.

"I'm supposed to retrieve Harry Potter for the Weighing of the Wands."

"Oh." he frowned. "What's that?"

The boy shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest. Professor Dumbledore said you'd be out here. He uh, he- he didn't say you wouldn't be alone."

Harry smiled and gave Luna a squeeze. She refused to budge. "Where is the-what was it?- Weighing of the Wands?"

Short First Year nodded. "Yeah, that's it. It's on the fourth floor, next to the Transfiguration classroom."

"Okay. I'll find my way there. Thanks, uh..."

"Colin. Colin Creevey." Short First Year waved, then dashed off. It was only when he was long gone did Luna lift her head out of Harry's shoulder. He couldn't help it. The look of sheer mortification on her face was too much. He burst into laughter.

"Shut up!" she started hitting him on the chest. "It's not funny!"

"Yes it is." he assured her. Then he groaned. "I don't want to go."

"Yes, well.." she stood and brushed off her jeans, then extended a hand to help haul him to his feet. "You have to, and that's that."

"Fine." he grumbled, taking Luna's hand and starting back towards the castle. "Its not like I even use a wand anyways, I don't know why they want me there."

Luna shrugged and released his hand to wrap herself around his arm. She seemed to like that better, and he wasn't going to complain. "Publicity, I suppose." she made a face. "That means the press will be there."

"Oh, great. More reasons to not go."

"You have to, Harry."

"Don't remind me."

* * *

Harry walked into the room repurposed for the Weighing of the Wands-was he supposed to capitalize it- took in the room's occupants, specifically a familiar, stooped old man with crazy white hair and gray eyes. His eyes narrowed and he said, "You."

The old man, Ollivander, gave no notice to Harry's curt tone and simply smiled. Perhaps sensing Harry's change in mood, Dumbledore strode to the center of the room, clapped his hands to gain everyone's attention and stated, "Now that all the champions are here, we can begin."

The other champions were here? Harry looked around and saw that indeed, they were. The supplanted Hogwarts champion(he felt a guilty twinge, even though it wasn't his fault) was a good looking seventh year whose face he knew but whose name escaped him grinned from where he lounged in a seat in the room's center. The Durmstrang champion glowered at everyone from a corner stool, his headmaster standing behind him with a proprietary hand on the boy's shoulder. Beauxbatons' champion was a gorgeous girl with white-blonde hair who studied everyone with calm, ice-blue eyes.

Harry and the other champions sat in the red velvet chairs arrayed in a diamond and waited for the Weighing of the Wands, whatever that was, to begin. He turned his attention back to Dumbledore, who was explaining what it was.

"The Weighing of the Wands is a tradition that dates back to the third Tournament. Its purpose is to ascertain the status and care put in to each of your wands. The exception of course being Mr. Potter, who doesn't need one."

Harry turned a faint shade of red at everyone's curious looks and slid lower in his chair.

The Hogwarts champion stood and handed his wand to Ollivander. The old man ran thin, nimble fingers over the ten and a half inches of ash, murmured to himself, produced a sound like a gunshot- scaring Harry half to death in the process, before handing it back.

Twice more this process occurred, each time the old wandmaker would produce a different effect. Some humorous; the Durmstrang champions wand sang opera for a few moments, and some merely interesting; conjured birds fluttered around the room before vanishing in a puff of smoke and feathers.

Then it was Harry's turn. So, feeling like an idiot, he went to Ollivander and didn't present the wand he didn't have. That didn't stop the old wandmaker from eying him like he was the most fascinating thing to ever happen. Aged gray eyes roved over him, focusing on the tattoos on his face. Fingers twitched as if they itched to examine them. A long two minutes passed before Harry lost his patience and asked, "Well, do I pass inspection?"

Ollivander blinked. "Hm? Oh, I'm terribly sorry, my boy. When you're as old as I am your mind tends to wander occasionally. Now," he tapped the pads of his fingers together. "How to proceed? We have all heard the tales of your prowess, so there's no need for anything tremendous...perhaps, if you're agreeable, a small demonstration for the officials and school heads?"

Harry didn't want to. He _really _didn't want to. But, it looked like the quickest way to get out of here, so he nodded and stepped back.

_What to do, what to do, what to...ah-hah!_

He held his hands out to his sides, palms up, and wove a pattern of swirling amber light in the air around him. Gradually, flickering like fireflies, streamers of energy coalesced in a tight egg shape around him. As the strands wove together their inherent glow increased until to the room's other occupants it felt as if they were looking into the sun. Then, with a sudden burst, the shell faded, leaving a blinking Harry to drop his hands and look around sheepishly.

"Sorry," he rubbed the back of his neck. "it was the best I could think of."

Ollivander recovered first, smiling happily. "And a good show it was, Mr. Potter! I can say without reservation that you are fit to compete in the Tournament. Though, those markings...hmm, curious. Albus, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time when we are done here?"

"Certainly Horace," Dumbledore replied. He then looked to the man standing beside him, a round, smiling man with no hair and an enormous mustache. To Harry he resembled Vernon's slightly demented- though very pleasant- twin. "Unless there was something else, Ludo?"

"Hmm?" The round man, apparently called Ludo, blinked before shaking his head. "No, nothing coming to mind. Well," he amended. "there is one thing."

"Let's hear it, then."The Durmstrang headmaster(Karkarov? No, Karkaroff) said curtly. "None of us are getting any younger, here."

None of Ludo's ebullience left the man. "Quite right, Igor! Quite right. Now, before we let you champions leave, a reminder: the first task is set to begin in two months' time, and because it is a test of your courage in the face of the unknown, you won't be told what it is until the day of the task. Any questions?"

Harry had several, but figured Ludo was just being polite and kept his peace.

"No?" the round man almost looked disappointed. "Alright then, off you go. I'm sure some of you have class to attend."

Harry didn't, actually, but left the room at a fast walk. He didn't like the speculative or hostile looks he was getting from the other champions and their respective school heads. It wasn't that he hadn't felt scrutiny before- with his past, he most certainly had, it was something about the way they looked at him.

Not for the first time he felt that he was a child playing a game meant for adults. It wouldn't have been as depressing if it weren't so accurate. He _was _a child, and he _was _playing a game meant for people older than him. The plain and simple truth was that he was out of his league, and if he had his way at all he'd have nothing to do with this in the first place.

Since that wasn't in the cards, and refusing to compete wasn't either, he didn't have much choice. Vernon's words came to him then, a reminder of his father's quiet confidence. Petunia, though more worried than her husband, believed in him just as strongly. They believed he could win.

So he would. Not for him, not for Hogwarts, not for Luna- though the idea held some interesting appeal- not for glory or money. He would win the tournament for his parents and their belief in him.

* * *

It was remarkable how quickly eight weeks had gone by. Harry could still remember with almost perfect clarity the Weighing of the Wands back in August. Then again, maybe he shouldn't be so surprised. His days had been filled with practice, training- both physical and magical. He started up his old boxing workouts, because he didn't know what he'd be facing, other than he had to be ready.

And since he had been entered against his will, which had disturbing implications, he had to be _especially _ready.

Which was why he'd asked Hermione to divert some of her incredible intellect towards designing some exercises he could use to perfect his control. She had happily complied, and now he felt more confident in his abilities even as they exacted a greater toll on his body.

Where there were runes, no hair would grow. He discovered this one September morning in the shower, when as he was brushing his teeth he noticed that his hairline was not where it normally was, the skin of his forehead was paler than it had been before. But it wasn't until two weeks later that it really sunk in. He, at fourteen years old, was going bald.

Joy of joys.

* * *

The morning of the first task was crisp and clear, with a slight breeze ruffling what was left of Harry's hair. He, as a champion, had been excused from the day's classes to prepare. Instead he'd gone to his favorite place in the castle and hid, an act which gave him a stroke of good luck all on its own.

From that high up he could see the stadium they'd built, near the small lake that used to be the Quidditch pitch. He couldn't see exactly, but it looked like an arena. Rocks of various sizes were scattered around a sandy ground, and a mound rose from the far side of the oval area, the top of which had been excavated to create a sort of bowl.

On the far side of the bowl outside of the arena he saw cages. Cages that, even from this distance, looked massive. His stomach sank as he put two and two together. Courage in the face of the unknown? More like, 'fight a giant, magical monster and try not to die'. Hedwig landed on his shoulder and nipped his ear, as if to say, "You can do this."

"Thanks, Hedwig." he rubbed her head the way she liked. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"Indeed," a new, familiar voice said, causing Harry to whirl around and Hedwig to fly off, scolding him all the way back to her perch. Dumbledore was standing with arms folded, eyes twinkling. "there is nothing like the belief of friends and family to buoy us, is there Harry?"

Harry just shrugged noncommittally, still unsure if he had forgiven the old wizard or not. "Was there something you wanted, Professor?"

"Yes," Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle. "it's time to begin."

* * *

The Champion's tent stood a few dozen meters to the side of the arena. It was a wide, low canvas affair that was- true to wizard fashion- much larger inside than out. Once entered, there were benches and chairs and even a small brazier in the center, giving a warm, glowing feel to the place. A cast iron tub with clawed feet stood in a corner, filled with ice and presumably drinks.

Harry had made a beeline for the drinks cooler, knowing how thirsty he'd be soon and wishing he had a drink. Then he retreated to a corner chair and sat, sipping his water and spinning a small, amber ball in a circle above his palm. Part meditation, part fine control exercise, he used it to keep a lid on his rising anxiety.

"How do you do that?"

He looked up to see the Hogwarts champion watching him with open interest. He closed his hand, banishing the ball, and raised his brows. "Have we met?"

The older boy started, then gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Right, sorry. What with all that's been going on I forgot we actually haven't been introduced." he held out a hand, which Harry took. "I'm Cedric."

"Nice to meet you." Harry said, shaking and releasing Cedric's hand. "Though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Another laugh. "True, true." A silence fell for a moment before, "I'm sorry if it's a bother to you, but I really am curious."

Harry sighed and opened his palm. The ball reappeared and floated idly in open air. "Believe me," he said, somewhat bitterly. "So am I."

Cedric frowned. "You mean you don't know? Why not?"

To which Harry shrugged and said, "Because as far as anyone knows, I'm the first one."

"Wow." the older boy's eyes widened. "I had no idea. Sorry."

"It's okay. Nothing to be sorry for. I made my peace with the idea a while back. Now it's just...like walking or breathing."

Cedric digested this, giving Harry a moment of time to remember that he was supposed to be competing _against _this guy, as likeable as he was, he was still an opponent. "That's a little hard to imagine." the older boy confessed.

Harry blinked. "Why?"

"I don't have your gift. So to me, it looks like this mysterious, wonderful thing, something...almost superhuman."

"Well, it's not." he assured Cedric. "It has its limits. And it is wonderful and magical and all that, but I grew up with it. I've never _not _had it, if that makes sense."

"It's part of you."

Harry was about to reply that in a way, it _was _him when he heard voices approaching the tent, Harry could hear Dumbledore, Ludo, and-_oh, no_- Hagrid coming their way. He twisted his head to better hear them and Cedric followed the motion. He turned back to the older boy and said, "I think we're about to start."

"Good luck." Cedric said, either by design or accident forgetting his almost-question. Then the tent flap was thrown back, the speakers entered, and the first task of the Triwizard Tournament officially, _finally_ began.

* * *

"Welcome, Champions," Ludo boomed, grinning widely. "to the first task! Today is a test of your bravery in the face of unknown danger, of your quick wit and ability to think on your feet. Today we test your courage, your heart, your very being. Now," he reached into his robes and removed a squirming red velvet bag. "in this bag is a model of what you'll be facing. You will go in order from one to four, and your task is to collect a stone tablet in the arena. Miss Delacour? Ladies first." he offered the bag.

The Beauxbatons champion-Miss Delacour- strode over to the bag and put a shaking hand into it. Her face cycled through several emotions; worry, surprise, concern, before wincing and drawing her hand back out. Curled in her palm, gnawing on her fingers with tiny, metal fangs was a small golden wolf. Etched into the wolf's back was a number 1.

"Ah!" Ludo exclaimed, because he seemed incapable of just saying something. "Miss Delacour has chosen a Fenrir wolf. Mister Krum, you're up!"

Mister Krum drew an angry golden figurine that had the body of a lion, the tail of a snake, and the head of a goat. The chimaera had a number 3 tied to the goat's neck. Cedric picked a two headed dog with two tails; an Orthrian hound. This had the number 2 dangling from a little collar. Then it was Harry's turn. He put his hand in the bag, felt cool, metallic scales curl around his wrist, and drew his hand out of the bag.

Curled around his hand, head flicking its metal tongue out, was a small, golden snake. It had the number 4 etched into its scales. Harry didn't need Ludo's excited shout to know what animal he'd chosen. He looked down at the miniature basilisk in his hand and wondered once again if Fate hated him.

Sooner, much sooner than Harry expected, it was time for Miss Delacour to face her monster. Her beautiful face was pale, but determined and she walked confidently out of the Champion's tent to the roar of the spectators.

* * *

Ludo _really _wasn't helping anything. The excitable man was giving a vividly detailed account of everything each champion did. He'd shout things like, "Oh Lord! I don't know how he'll get out of this! Watch closely, ladies and gentlemen!" or "Devious! Cunning! I _like _it!". It was getting to the point where he couldn't decide what was worse; watching the described actions or listening to them.

Every now and again he'd hear a bestial roar and that tended to make up his mind. He would stay right here, thank you, and not be eaten by a giant snake. After fifteen or twenty minutes of shouts, cries, roars, and spellfire, the crowd would roar as the Champion inevitably finished their task. Points were tallied, scores announced, and soon Ludo was calling for "Mister Harry Potter to enter the arena."

So, throat suddenly desert dry, Harry did.

* * *

The arena was enormous, bigger even than Slytherin's Chamber. The rough mix of sand earth crunched under his feet as he blinked his way into the bright day. The roar of the crowd filled his ears as his gaze was drawn past the gullies carved into the ground, past the boulders dotting the landscape, up to the mound at the far end of the arena. Curled around its entirety, from top to bottom, was the brilliant, emerald green basilisk.

It was watching him. And it looked hungry.

Somewhere in the back of his mind not shrieking like a six year old girl at a slumber party he heard Ludo whispering excitedly to the crowd, "...surprise entry, Harry Potter is the youngest champion ever to make a bid for the cup. Whether or not his skill matches his confidence will remain to be seen."

_Hey, they're getting the story wrong!_

_Now is _so _not the time. Fight big snake now, call lawyer later. _

Then Ludo addressed him directly. "When you're ready, Mr. Potter, you may begin."

He rolled his eyes. Well, now that he had permission...

Harry took a step forward, and that was all the basilisk needed. With a thunderous hiss it shot forward, carving a path through the boulders and looking like a bloodthirsty, out of control train. He stood transfixed at its approach, seeing only _teeth, it's got teeth the size of me!_

It was meters from him, the air of its approach whipping dust into his eyes, that his instincts kicked in. He directed power to his legs and _pushed_, feet digging divots out of the ground as he threw himself out of the basilisk's path. He flew a dozen feet, wove a shield in front of himself, cracked a boulder and landed in a crouch.

The crowd roared, a section of it screaming, "_Ole!_" as if the whole thing were some kind of joke. Ludo was jabbering excitedly and the whole of them sort of turned into a buzz in his ears, unimportant, annoying at worst. The basilisk impacted against the arena with an almighty crash that shook the stands and whirled around, eyes glinting with reptilian anger.

Harry met its gaze. His power, his unique gift sang in his veins and he buried himself in the music. His eyes began to emit wisps of light and his runes glowed. He curled his palms, facing down, and as the king of serpents began to rush him again he threw his hands forward with a wordless shout.

Force- pure, unassuming force raced across the closing distance, raising a trail of sand and wind in its wake. The basilisk wailed at the impact, but kept coming. Harry wasn't finished. He wound his open hands around each other and spun, reaching out with his will and catching the debris still settling in the air.

The storm would not be contained. He didn't even try. Harry wove a dust devil from earth, sand, and latent wind and threw it at the deadliest snake in creation. Then he scanned the landscape with glittering eyes, searching for a hint of his goal. He caught a glimpse of something, a piece of not-earth that sang the way his power did.

He charged his legs with power and jumped again, leaving a furiously hissing basilisk in his wake.

* * *

Harry's shoes dug lines in the sand as he slid to a halt near the mound of earth on the far side of the arena. He turned, expecting to see a basilisk caught and confused in the spinning eye of a tornado. The bottom fell out of his stomach when he saw instead a careening set of fangs headed in his direction.

So he did the sensible thing. He turned and ran. Up to the top of the mound where he could face the thing on even ground. The snake circled the mound, keeping a yellow eye the size of a small dog on him, hissing with a primal malevolence. He turned on his heel to match its gaze. Then it stopped and rose, swaying side to side, to the top of the mound.

Harry drew power again, heart in his throat, mind racing to think of how to deal with when it tried to bite him. He was completely unprepared when its jaws snapped closed and it _slammed _its blunt snout into the earth at his feet instead.

He flew again, spinning in the air and surrounded by a cloud of dust and broken earth. He shielded himself just before he hit the ground and bounced to a halt at the base of a large stone. His ankle twinged when he stood, and he wouldn't have been surprised to know it was sprained. He would have looked, but his vision was occupied by the basilisk sliding gracefully over the mound towards him. Its eyes were cold, calculating pits.

Harry rested a hand on the boulder behind him, feeling its cool grit under his palm. An idea came to him. It was a bad idea. Hell, it was a _horrible _idea, but it might work. The basilisk circled again, toying with him, taunting him. He funneled his fear, his anger, and his worry and reached out with his mind to the rocks around him, building an image of what he wanted in his mind.

The crowd was silent, Ludo was silent. Harry breathed hard and under that breath whispered, "_Wake_."

Nothing. His heart fell. He took his hand off the boulder and prepared to run just as the basilisk lifted its head and opened its mouth to strike when he heard something. A sound like colliding stones. He waited, holding his breath, barely daring to hope that it had worked.

Slowly, but with increasing speed, the boulders of the arena rolled towards each other, stacking on each other, building up and up and out. Thick boulders formed stout legs, hips and chest before going back down into arms. The crowd watched in stunned silence as the boulder golem reached down and picked up its head as it rolled into its feet. It turned to the basilisk and crashed its fists together; a challenge.

The basilisk screeched; an answer.

Harry watched with a mile-wide grin as his golem and the basilisk charged each other. When they met, their impact shook the ground for hundreds of yards.

* * *

Like all things, there was a downside. The strain of holding his golem together was _tremendous_. He could barely stay upright as he staggered towards where he last knew the tablet to be. Behind him his creation gave its battle cry; a sound like an erupting volcano, wrapped its arms around the snake and slammed it to the ground. Harry fell over and rose to his knees. His vision blurred and his breath came in gasps.

He couldn't hold it for much longer. Through his connection to the golem he could feel the basilisk wind around its body and begin to squeeze. He felt the stones breaking under the snake's immense muscle strength and knew he was running out of time.

_Just a bit longer. You can do this, you _will _do this. Hold. The. Spell. _

So he did. He crawled on his hands and knees, but he did. Ahead of him, half buried in the sand, glinted a stone tablet covered in carvings. His golem hammered a fist into the snake's head, freeing it enough to shove the snake away and rise to its feet, fists raised in a boxer's stance.

The basilisk rushed it and received a jab-cross combo to the jaw, followed by an elbow to the base of the skull. Harry reached the tablet and dug it free, wrapping his arms around it and staggering to his feet. He looked through squinting eyes at the people shouting his name. On the opposite side of the arena to his golem and the basilisk Madam Pomfrey, Moody, and someone else was waving to him.

Harry nodded to himself. The golem lost an arm and used it as a club to batter the basilisk senseless. Boulders rained to the ground as the spell holding them together began to fray. His run was more of a continual forward fall, but it covered ground, and just as he reached the exit his construct fell apart with a final, defiant bellow, leaving a battered and unconscious basilisk beneath it.

As for Harry, he fell into Madam Pomfrey's arms, allowing her to steady him but refusing to be carried. He limped under his own power to the arena's exit before turning back to the stunned crowd. His body ached. His ankle was killing him. He could barely see and his breath came in great, whooping gasps. And he had never felt more alive. He'd _won_. He'd faced a basilisk head on and beat the son of a bitch into oblivion. A fierce grin split his features as he hefted the tablet overhead for a brief moment before turning to leave.

He was halfway to the medical tent when he heard it. It started in the same his construct did; slowly, building on itself, reaching a crescendo of stomping feet, clapping hands and howling voices. The applause of the crowd washed over him like warm water. He limped into the tent and finally allowed Madam Pomfrey to descend on him. She poked and prodded and clucked her teeth like the worried mother hen she was, but Harry didn't care.

He'd won.

* * *

Apparently he had to go receive his score. So, after Madam Pomfrey reluctantly freed him to do so- having extracted a promise to _use the crutch this time, Mr. Potter- _he hobbled back out into the arena to get his scores. The crowd, having quieted down somewhat in his departure, picked up their applause again as he re-entered the thankfully snake free arena. The pile of boulders that used to be a golem, however remained.

Tablet under one arm, leaning heavily on the crutch, he waited. Soon, the spectators settled down and Ludo stood, wand once again held like a microphone in front of his face. "Never in all my years have I seen magic like that!" he exclaimed. "It's safe to say that our Mr. Potter here has more than enough skill. Now, the judges, having been informed of Mr. Potter's unique abilities, are now prepared to deliver their scores. Judges?"

At the judge's table sat Minister Scrimgeour and Professors Dumbledore, Maxime, and Karkaroff, the last of whom looking like he'd been force-fed a lemon. Maxime was gaping at him, Scrimgeour had a particular glint in his eye, and Dumbledore was smiling proudly at him.

Karkaroff went first. He glared at Harry and very deliberately raised his wand. A scarlet ribbon shot from its tip into the air, twisting itself into a five. He smirked, clearly trying to get a rise from Harry. It would have worked, but exhaustion was settling around him like a warm blanket and he _really_ didn't care about his scores, could he just go to bed now?

Maxime recovered her composure, thought hard for a moment, and raised her wand. Harry saw the barest hints of a smile as her ribbon shaped itself into a nine. He nodded to her, trying to convey his respect. She nodded graciously back. Message received.

Scrimgeour gave Harry a nine as well. Then it was Dumbledore's turn. He would be lying if he said that the old wizard's opinion meant nothing to him. Yet, at the same time, it wasn't Dumbledore that he was trying to make proud. Regardless of motivation, Harry found his hands shaking as his headmaster raised his wand into the air.

The ribbon shot out.

The crowd _howled_.

A ten.

* * *

"A ten?"

"Yep."

"A. Ten."

"Yes."

"Dumbledore gave you a ten?"

Harry glared tiredly at Neville. "What part of this is so hard for you to understand?"

"I just wasn't expecting it, is all." Neville confessed.

"Oh. Wait, why?"

"Because...he's Dumbledore!" Neville said, as if that explained everything. "I just thought he'd be harder to impress."

"Neville. I made a thirty foot golem out of boulders and went toe to toe with a _basilisk_. That's impressive."

"Just ask him," Neville grumbled. "he'll tell you all about how awesome he is."

"Hang on, why weren't you there, anyways?" Harry asked as it occurred to him.

Neville turned an interesting shade of red and refused to answer.

Oddly enough, when he asked Hermione at dinner later, she did the same thing.

* * *

Out of everyone's reaction to Harry's performance, his favorite was Luna's. They had been up in the owlrey, sitting as they usually did, when out of nowhere she proclaimed, "Next time, you should put a face on it."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"The rock man," she explained, lacing her fingers with his. "I think it would have looked better if it had a face."

"Luna, it _did _have a face. That's how it made noise." he yelped when she pinched the back of his hand.

"That's not a proper face. It had no personality at all." she said. Harry digested this for a long moment. An owl took flight. After a moment he gave up and shrugged.

"Next time, I'll give it a face."

"Good. Now that we've settled that..." she lifted her face towards his. He grinned and bowed his own to meet her.

There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.

* * *

Three days after the task the champions were called together and told to bring their tablets with them. In the same classroom that the Weighing of the Wands took place Ludo sat them all down and explained what would happen next.

"Now that you've all got your clues to the second task, here's what it's about. In the first we tested your courage. In the second, we test your intelligence. What you have on your tablet is a riddle. This riddle will tell you everything you need to know about the second task. It's a few months away, and you've got plenty of time to solve it, but I wouldn't procrastinate if I were you."

Harry rolled his eyes at this. The chances of that happening with this group were nonexistent. He wagered all four riddles would be translated and solved by December. Maybe sooner. He made a note as they were leaving to get Hermione in on this. Translating _and_ solving a riddle written in an unknown language? She'd never forgive him if he left her out.

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWELVE_

**Note: Nothing to see here, move along. If anyone has questions about what's going on, PM me. I'll do my best to help, unless you want to know the plot. Then I call up the assassins. Cheers!**


	14. Tournaments Aflame, IV

**Note: If anyone knows how to disable Guest reviews, shoot me a PM. I can't for the life of me figure it out. And if I can't, well, I'd like to know that, too. **

**Anyway, on with the story!**

_CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TOURNAMENTS AFLAME, IV_

* * *

Harry knew something was up the moment Professor McGonagall asked him to hold back after class ended. However, she wouldn't tell him what it was until everyone else had left. So he had plenty of time to come up with a number of horrible things.

He couldn't help it, his mind raced; everything that could have gone wrong in the last twenty four hours racing to the front of his thoughts and screaming at him. "Pro-professor." he said, voice choked and tight, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "What's going on? Is everyone all right? Is-"

McGonagall held up a hand, stopping him mid-ramble. "Everyone's fine, Mister Potter. This, I'm afraid is Tournament business."

"Oh, thank God." he sighed, relaxed, and sank back into his chair. Across from him McGonagall arched an eyebrow. "Sorry, professor."

"Quite all right." she assured him. "Now the reason I asked you to stay behind is because you are one of the champions. Unwilling or not, your presence is required at the opening of the Yule Ball. This means that you and your date will have to be present in the Entrance Hall with the other champions ahead of time."

_Well, that's just- just...aw, crap. _

"Professor," Harry groaned. "you're saying that I not only have to dance- which I have no idea how to do, by the way- in front of three hundred people, give or take, but I have to convince some poor girl to be up there with me while I make a fool of myself? Are you _trying _to make me miserable?"

McGonagall's lips twitched. "Far from it, Mister Potter. I should think a strapping young lad such as yourself would have no difficulty at all acquiring a date for the Ball. And, as for the dancing..." here she did smile, making her look years younger. "I'm afraid you're quite on your own."

"You're no help at all." Harry grumbled. "Is there anything else?"

"You're dismissed, Mister Potter." McGonagall still smiled. Just before the door swung shut he heard something that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Such a thing was impossible. Everyone knew that Professor McGonagall didn't laugh. Still, as he made his way back to the common room, he found himself smiling just a little.

After all, if _she_ of all people could see the humor in a situation, he certainly could.

* * *

"Hey, Luna."

She smiled up at him. He'd found her out by the lake, feeding pieces of toast to the fish. He dropped down to sit next to her and let his legs swing freely. She tore off another piece and tossed it, a fish snatching it out of the air in a rather dramatic fashion. "Good one!" she praised it, before handing him a piece. "Your turn, Harry. Go on."

He shrugged and threw the piece in, only after watching it be devoured in little, darting jerks remembering why he'd come to find Luna in the first place. And wouldn't you know it? He lost the ability to speak again. Every time he tried he just sort of...squeaked before giving the whole thing up and looking pleadingly at her.

She giggled. Kill him now. "Is there something you wanted to ask me, Harry?"

He nodded. She wrinkled her brow in mock-thought.

"Well, what is it?" she asked, eyes bright and teasing.

Harry swallowed, feeling his ears burn, and choked out, "Wilgobalme?" he slapped his forehead and tried again. "I mean, will you go to the Yule Ball with me, Luna Lovegood?"

Luna threw her head back- he shouldn't have enjoyed the curve of her neck displayed as much as he had- and laughed. He found himself smiling, something about the carefree nature of well..._her _drawing it out of him despite a deep and possibly lethal dose of embarrassment. "Yes," she said, finally calming down. "I will go to the ball with you, Harry Potter."

"Oh, that's- that's good then." he breathed a sigh of relief and his whole body sagged. "You wouldn't know how to dance, would you?"

"A bit," she sounded confused, yet curious. "why? Do you?"

"Nope." he confessed freely, having reached embarrassment overload a while back. "I was hoping you could teach me."

"What will the papers say?" Luna teased, smile wide and impish. "Harry Potter, _The _Harry Potter, can't dance."

He huffed. "Will you help me or not?"

"Of course," she said, before standing and extending a hand to him. "In fact, we'll start now."

"Now?" Harry scrambled to his feet. "But there's no music!"

Luna tilted her head at him. "Now why would you think that matters?"

So they danced out by the lake, toast-seeking fish swimming nearby, to no music. Having her in his arms felt..._right_ was the only word he could think of. He didn't know how long they were out there, and he didn't really care. All he focused on was the warmth of Luna in his arms, the smell of her hair, and _not _stepping on her feet.

* * *

His music free practices with Luna carried on through to the end of the month, at which point she judged him good enough to stop entirely. When he asked her, for the third or fourth time, why they were dancing without music, her answer was typical in that it came out of nowhere but made perfect sense.

"Because if we practiced with music, that would be the only music you could dance to." she explained as he spun her out and back in- he'd just discovered the move and liked the way her hair spun out behind her as she twirled. "This way, your body knows _how _to move, the music just tells it _when_."

Like he said, typical.

After his lessons he had a bit more confidence about the whole 'dancing in front of a whole bunch of people' thing the Yule Ball had become in his mind. He still fretted about it, occasionally, when it was late or he had a bit of free time. Free time, incidentally, was something he had less and less of as the days went by.

First off, he'd been completely right about Hermione. She'd taken to the task of translating the tablet like a woman possessed. It had become her crusade, leading her to spend hours on end digging through language reference texts in the library at arbitrary hours. Which would have been fine, except she had a bad habit of dragging him and Neville into it.

Secondly, funny things were happening with his magic. It wasn't that it had stopped working or something- in fact he was having the opposite problem. Spells that used to drain him no longer did, and things he could do with only a wave of his hand he could now accomplish with just a thought. Keeping his newly expanded power under control was a headache. He'd never had to watch himself that carefully before.

The third and final thing was both more frightening and more important than the first two. He'd started thinking about who could have entered him into the Tournament. He ruled out all of the students right away, there being no way in hell any of them could get past the enchantments. The power of the thing still resonated in his memory. He ruled out teachers on the basis that they by and large didn't mean him harm.

So that left people on the outside, which actually narrowed the field quite a bit. Logic, and a bit of a fatalist streak, had led him to believe that whoever it was either served or had at one point served Voldemort. They still hadn't caught the remnants of the Azkaban breakout from last year. Any one of them could have done it. So he went to Dumbledore. Hopefully that would help. Or at least make him feel better.

* * *

_Well, that was...reassuring?_

Sometimes he felt like it would be easier to talk to dogs or something than try and have a conversation with Dumbledore. He wouldn't feel so ridiculously outwitted, for one, and the dog would probably be easier to understand. The old wizard didn't mean anything by it, he was pretty sure, but still...

That meeting was a perfect example; He, Harry, had concerns. Dumbledore listened to and acknowledged them, then addressed them. Trouble came with the delivery- he had _no idea at all_ what the headmaster had said. After he started explaining wardtheory something went wrong with Harry's ears; he started hearing bees buzzing instead of words, but the basics of what he understood was as follows;

Each student wears robes as part of the uniform. On all of these robes is the Hogwarts crest. Cast on that crest is a tracking spell that lets the headmaster know where on the grounds everyone was. The spell deactivates for the summer and winter, the point being that the wards wouldn't allow anyone on the grounds without a crest or the express permission of a member of the school staff.

Conclusion: whoever snuck onto the grounds and entered Harry into the Tournament had a Hogwarts robe. It made his earlier thoughts about the students seem idiotic until he remembered that half of England- Voldemort included- had worn a Hogwarts robe at some point in their lives.

The hole had been fixed and now he could rest easy in the knowledge that the only things trying to kill him would have the schools' permission to do so.

So, naturally, he didn't rest easy at all.

* * *

Harry was ambling, something he didn't do very often, but the day just was too good to pass up. It was beautiful for a Scottish winter's day; this generally meant a lack of rain, maybe a bit of sun. But, as he made his way around the lake and the wind tugged at the ends of his robes, he decided he was gonna take what he can get.

"_Haaarrrryyy!_"

He was a good hundred yards from the school, if he turned around he could see most of it without leaning his head back. He didn't though, enjoying the lack of things on his mind and doing his best to ignore whoever it was shouting his name.

"_Haarrryy Pooottteeerr!_"

No matter how many times they did it. Today was his day off. Nothing important, life-threatening, or dangerous would happen on his day off. It just wouldn't. So when the voice- who sounded suspiciously like Hermione- shouted his name again, he did his best to convince himself that since she wasn't going away he might as well listen. Because it was his day off, and nothing bad was going to happen.

It wouldn't.

Harry sighed and turned, catching the amusing sight of Hermione Granger running flat out across the grounds. It wasn't that she was unfit, it was that whenever she ran her hair turned into this massive, bushy cape that streamed out behind her. So when she caught up to him, panting and sweaty, the fact that he couldn't stop smiling _probably _didn't help her mood any.

"You..." she panted. "are a thoroughly...despicable...human being!"

His eyebrows rose. "I am?"

Between gasps for air and nursing a stitch in her side she managed to say, "Been chasing you...since lunch...have you got cotton in your ears or something?"

"Eh?"

"_Oh, for the love of-!"_ she threw up her hands. "Never mind! Just- do you want to know _why _I ran like a madman across the grounds or not?"

Harry perked up. "Yes!"

Hermione crossed her arms and turned up her nose. "Maybe I don't want to tell you, after being ignored for so long."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, you'll explode if you don't tell me...whatever it is you came to tell me."

She held out for as long as she could, but he watched cracks appear in her admittedly impressive demeanor. Her lips twitched, and she gave in moments later and sighed. "Fine, fine. You know me too well, you know that? Anyway, I came to tell you that I figured out the tablet. At least partially."

It...it wasn't bad, per se. It wasn't _brilliant_, and he wasn't going to write home about it, but he wasn't bleeding, bruised, or on fire so he'd let it slide. That being said, he was incredibly curious what she'd found out, so he held out his arm and said in an exaggeratedly posh accent, "Would you care to escort me then, Miss. Granger?"

"But I just got here!" she pouted, before relenting and taking his arm. "Fine, but only if we have a walk around the lake first."

He wasn't in any particular hurry, so... "Well, that _was_ the plan, so-" he gestured with his free hand. "lead the way."

So, with a smile, she did just that.

* * *

The table was scattered with books, papers, and empty inkwells. Parchment with Hermione's neat, elegant writing took up the spaces not occupied by everything else. In short, it looked like she was having an ordinary day. The exception was the large, scuffed stone tablet that took center stage, propped on an altar of other, presumably useless books.

"Hermione," Harry said, taking in the scene. "why exactly didn't you tell me you were doing this? I would have helped, you know. I feel bad not helping."

"Harry," she fixed him with one of her 'you're-an-idiot-and-here's-why' looks. "under normal circumstances I wouldn't help. But under normal circumstances you would have wanted to solve it in the first place. The deck is stacked against you, and anything I can do to even the odds, I will. Even if it means translating a dead language for you on a Saturday."

"I- uh." there was something in his eye, something that needed turning away to remove. Looking back on this moment he would deny his voice sounding like sandpaper. "You said something about a dead language."

"Yeah," she said, before arms wrapped around his middle. "you know we're here for you, right? Anything you need."

"Uh." The entire Gobi desert appeared to have taken up residence in his eyes, requiring a thorough scrubbing to remove. "Oh, bugger it."

Harry turned and damn near squeezed the life out of Hermione. She held onto him for a long moment before pushing him back and saying, "You have something in your eye?"

"No." he sniffed and turned his attention to the table. "So what am I looking at?"

In so doing he missed Hermione's smile and fond look. "It's a riddle," she rooted around for a specific piece of parchment, which she then handed to him. "in Aramaic, if you'll believe it."

"I'll confess to having no idea what that is." he took the parchment and scanned the riddle.

"You know how there are dead languages?"

"Yeah."

"This is an _extremely _dead language."

"Ah."

* * *

The riddle read like this;

_Greetings chosen,welcome champion._

_Attend the challenge of our words. _

_Where we live you've seen before, _

_but often missed for something more. _

_You will chase us, you will hunt us,_

_for we've taken that which you will miss. _

_Ware, champion, you've not all of time. _

_An hour's search, that's all you have, _

_past that, it's done, you've failed your task. _

_And what we've taken will never leave._

Harry blew out a breath and tossed the riddle back onto the table. "They don't mince words, do they? 'What we've taken will never leave'? Not a lot of wiggle room in that."

Hermione frowned. "I don't think they mean literally, Harry, in my mind it's more of warning to take this seriously."

"Hermione, they're saying that they're going to kidnap someone close to me and- unless I can rescue them in an hour- not give them back. _Of_ _course _I'm taking this seriously."

She chewed that over for a moment. "Why do you think they're taking someone?"

He gave her an annoyed look. "Otherwise I'd bugger off and buy a new one."

"Fair enough." Hermione conceded, before giving the riddle another pass. "At least we know where it'll happen."

"The forest."

She nodded before frowning. "This actually isn't a hard riddle, is it?"

He shrugged. "Pretty sure the challenge was in the translation."

"Fair enough." she conceded. "Has- has Neville said anything about the Ball?"

"Uh..." Harry wrinkled his brow in recollection. "no. At least, I don't think so. Should he have?"

"No," she buried her disappointment quickly enough that he only caught a hint of it. "of course not. Are _you _ready? I hear the champions have to dance in front of everyone."

"Actually, I think I've got it." he said, to her brief confusion.

"Luna teach you?"

"Yep."

* * *

_Oh, God._

_There's no way I'm going to make it. _

_Suggestions? _

_Run! Run away!_

"Harry?"

Luna's soft, husky voice drew him nicely from his panic. Then he looked at her, and forgot how to breathe. The sight of Luna's slender form draped in a pale gold dress, her hair braided and hanging down her back reached into his mind and took away everything other than _oh, you lucky wanker. _He couldn't stop staring and from the way a pink flush traveled from her cheeks to the curve of her shoulders, Luna didn't seem to mind.

"Uh-I-uh..." Harry cleared his throat and tried again. "You look beautiful, Luna."

She smiled, eyes reflecting the chandeliers hanging in the Entrance Hall as she walked up to him. "Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."

"Oh." he said. He was suddenly worried that his jacket might be wrinkled and set about straightening it before Luna's small hands stopped him. She looked like she was holding back laughter at his expense- which he probably deserved.

"You look fine," she assured him. "Now calm down, you're making my teeth itch."

"Champions over here, please!" McGonagall called. He let Luna drag him over, still trying to figure out if itchy teeth were possible.

The champions assembled made quite a sight. Miss Delacour(he still didn't know her first name) looked typically magnificent, leaving her date looking both shabby and glassy-eyed. Harry doubted he'd been drinking, so it probably had to do something with his date's being a Veela.

Cedric's date was a pretty Asian Ravenclaw who he'd never met but had passed in the hall on several occasions. She looked beyond thrilled to be here, and Harry wondered if she'd mind taking his place in the Tournament. When he got to the surly Durmstrang champion Krum he did a double-take.

"Hermione?"

Hermione Granger, _his _Hermione Granger, smiled at him from her place on Krum's arm. "Luna! Harry! Hi! Oh, you look _so _beautiful, Luna!"

From there the girls proceeded to talk about dresses, leaving Harry and Krum out in the dark. This was the girliest he'd ever seen Hermione act. Something else occurred to him; where was Neville? Hadn't he been planning on asking her to the Ball? Before Harry could ask her, the doors swung open, McGonagall said, "It's time.", and his own traitorous feet took him into the Great Hall.

* * *

"Harry, if you don't breathe soon, you're going to faint."

Luna, damn her, sounded highly amused. He didn't see the humor. The only funny thing about the last twenty minutes were one of the red headed boys' dress robes. Not for the first time he was glad he'd refused, flat out, to wear them. The poor guy looked like an effeminate priest or something.

At least he got to eat dinner first. He and the other champions were seated at a table next to the one holding the heads of school and various hangers-on. After Dumbledore had stood and said his piece- something about "welcome, welcome, one and all", Harry wasn't really paying attention- the feasting began. The food didn't just appear like it normally did.

He peered at his plate curiously. Were the elves on strike? Could elves go on strike? Luna rapped him on the head with something before handing it to him. "Ow." Oh, so that was how this was supposed to work. "Lamb chops." he said to his plate. Beside him Luna ordered something with fish and they spent their dinner trying to distract him from the fact he was going to have to dance soon.

"Now that we're all fed and watered, the festivities may begin!" Dumbledore declared. "If the champions will proceed to the dance floor, we may begin with the opening dance!"

Make that _very _soon.

* * *

Looking back, he would be hard pressed to tell what music had been playing. He flat out didn't know what sort of dance he was supposed to have done. The only thing he could think about- all he could focus on was her; her happy, bright smile. Her warm, almost hot skin under his palm. The way she would laugh when he spun her out and back.

No, he had no idea what music had been playing. But he forgave himself for that.

After the opening dance Luna took pity on him and told him to go find some drinks. Even though he had no idea where to find them, he set off in a random direction, figuring that he would stumble across them sooner or later. He dodged around people who had mustered up the courage to start dancing and instead of stumbling into drinks, stumbled into Hermione.

"Harry!" She was smiling widely and slightly red-faced. Her date was nowhere in sight. She noticed his looks around and explained, "Viktor's gone to get us some drinks."

"That's what I'm supposed to be doing." he replied, taking a seat next to her. When 'Viktor' got back he'd just ask where the drinks lived and until then wanted to catch up with his friend for a bit. "Actually, about that," he said. "where's Neville? I...sort of thought he was going to ask you."

"Oh, he did." she said, her smile only growing. Harry frowned.

"Unless he turned into a surly Bulgarian when I wasn't looking, I'm missing something."

Hermione laughed. "He didn't. Last night he came down with a bad flu and has to spend tonight in hospital. So when Viktor asked me at the last minute, I said yes." her eyes widened. "You don't think he'll be mad, do you?"

Harry shrugged. "Neville? I don't know. Probably not."

It was then that Krum- he should probably call him Viktor now- arrived with two glasses of what he hoped was punch in hand. It was a remarkable thing, watching the normally dour guy visibly brighten when he saw Hermione.

"I have drinks." he announced. His deep voice and thick accent made him rumble and left Harry deeply envious of a voice like that.

"Thank you, Viktor." Hermione said, taking a glass. Harry leaned across the table to better be heard.

"Where did you find those, anyway?" he asked, drawing Viktor's attention from Hermione. "I've been sent on the same mission by my date."

Viktor pointed across the floor and Harry groaned. "They are across the floor. You will know you are in right place because there will be enormous punch bowl." He grinned, just a little bit, as he said this. Harry grinned right back, thanked him, and stood.

"Got to run, Hermione," he explained to her questioning look. "if I don't show up with drinks soon, I don't know," he shivered theatrically. "she might...hurt me."

As he walked away Viktor asked, "Is Potter in danger from his date?"

"Only of a thorough snogging." Hermione replied.

* * *

"Luna, what are we doing? This is a broom closet, we can't-"

"You can't _possibly _be that stupid, Harry Potter."

"What? _Oh_..."

He didn't say anything else for a long, long time.

* * *

The morning of the second task was cold and brisk. Harry hugged the heavy coat tighter around him and wished he could just warm the air and be done with it. He'd thought about his power and growing too dependent on it and come to the conclusion that he didn't want that. So that was why he was huddling on the forest's edge with the other three, equally cold champions waiting for Ludo to finish blathering.

"...and in first place," the fat, happy man boomed, "is the fourth champion; Harry Potter! That's right, ladies and gentlemen, our surprise competitor is also our strongest so let's hear it for him!"

There was a decent swell of applause. He didn't really care if they set the stadiums on fire in their excitement, the people who he really _wanted _to be here, the people whose approval actually mattered to him, couldn't be here.

_Stupid, stupid anti-Muggle laws_, he grumbled to himself, hunching his neck a surprise gust of cold wind. Couldn't they just get on with it? They were wasting daylight and more than that, he hadn't seen Luna all day. Because he was capable of putting two and two together he knew where she was and was anxious to get her out. But there was a problem.

Ludo was _still _talking. "We have tested their bravery with the first task. In the second, we will test their knowledge and quick thinking ability; these are important qualities to any wizard, and even more so to a Triwizard Champion!"

"That title would be more impressive if anyone could name one." Harry muttered under his breath. Ludo continued.

"In the Forbidden Forest we have hidden from each champion something dear to their hearts. They will have an hour to retrieve it, at the end of which- and if they fail- their treasured possession will never be seen again."

Harry wondered if the crowd knew that their treasured 'possessions' were actually people. Then he wondered if they did know, would they care? It was something he was going to have to think about another time because it looked like they were _finally _starting. Ludo had turned to the champions, happy blue eyes gleaming, and announced,

"We will begin at the stroke of noon, champions. Are you ready?"

He received a variety of answers, ranging from a spoken word to a grunt to Harry's simple nod. This seemed to be enough for the fat man, who drew a pocket watch from his robes and flipped it open. Silence fell; agonizing, endless silence. Seconds ticked by and he was about to just charge in when Ludo pointed his wand into the sky, let off a sound like a starter's pistol, and shouted, "Begin!"

Harry jumped, covering the distance to the trees in a single leap, then vanished into the forest.

* * *

He jogged through the trees. It served the dual purpose of covering ground faster and keeping him warm. He had no idea what to look for or where he was going, so he kept his eyes peeled and his head on a swivel. So it came as something of a surprise when he quite literally tripped over his first clue. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his head.

_Ah. That might help_.

He never could remember to look down.

What he'd tripped over was a wide, flat piece of stone covered in the same markings as the tablet. Since he was neither fluent in Aramaic nor Hermione, it made no sense to him. What _did _make sense was the arrow pointing deeper into the woods.

"Well," he said. "that's convenient."

Which meant it was probably a trap. He rose and carried on, following the arrow's direction with spheres of hard amber light in his palms. It may be a trap, and he _was _going to walk right into it, but that didn't mean he was going in unprepared.

Crazy, not stupid, as Hermione would say.

* * *

Harry came to a clearing and fell to his knees. Something split the remaining hairs on his head as he fell, spearing across the open air and embedding itself in the trunk of a tree. After it stopped quivering he got a good look at what had almost killed him. It was a spine, made of what looked like bone, about as long as his arm and half as thick. And as he spun around and rose to his feet, he got a look at what had thrown it. It had the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and the tail of a porcupine.

It was a manticore, and it was looking at him like he was Thanksgiving dinner.

At least, until he dropped some trees on it. Then it was just angry at him.

The manticore venting its rage on the trees pinning it to the ground gave him time to come up with some way of incapacitating the thing without killing it. His thought process was interrupted by the monster's tail quivering and sending a quartet of spines his way. The earth rose in response to his will, forming a wall that the spines thudded into.

The beast howled in disappointment. Or rage, it was difficult to tell. Harry held up his hands like a conductor and directed the wall to split in two. Then it rolled forward in a wave until it reached the freed manticore. Just before it hit the winged lion's body, the earth sank into the ground and vanished.

Harry's heart sank. Had it not worked?

Earth exploded out of the ground, crude hands of dirt and rock grasping the beast by head and body and pinning it to the ground. The manticore yowled- whether in pain or in anger he couldn't tell, but it didn't look hurt. It _did _look pissed off. He didn't know how long the hands would hold it, so he did the sensible thing.

Instead of waiting around to see, Harry booked it.

* * *

He heard the sound of footfalls on the ground and ducked behind a tree, wrapping power around his forearms in preparation for his attack. The sound grew closer, bringing with it something that gave Harry pause.

Conversation. Whatever was coming his way, they were talking.

"This is an insult, Firenze! We should not lower ourselves to be the...villains in this theatricality the humans insist on performing!"

"Oh?" Firenze, whoever he was, sounded frustrated. "And what should we do instead? Refuse any contact with the world and claim our inherent superiority?"

"Yes!"

"We've done that! Two centuries we've done that, and look where it's gotten us, Magorian: in a forest not even a tenth the size of our old lands. If we do not change, do not open our eyes, then we will die. Either through fire and spell or the slow decay of time, our race is done unless we change _now_."

Magorian was silent for a long time. So long, in fact, that Harry began to think that Firenze had gotten the point across. Curiosity was getting the better of him, and he started edging towards the tree trunk's curve to get a better look.

"If we change- if we adapt," Magorian's voice was hoarse. "then what do we become? What becomes of our people if we no longer _are _our people?"

That was when Harry stuck his head around the corner and froze.

Centaurs.

_Crap_.

* * *

The last ten minutes had proven more intriguing and utterly nerve-wracking than any other in the tournament. Even the basilisk wasn't this bad; it was over quickly, and he could _do _something. The snake was a threat, a physical threat, that he could fight. But this, surrounded by centaurs in the forest, with Luna's limp body tied to the base of a massive tree?

It was almost too much. And he didn't like the way his heart wrenched at the sight of her still form.

The two centaurs, Firenze and Magorian, had found him not long after their argument and brought him to one of their encampments. 'Encampment' wasn't the world they'd used, Harry couldn't say the word they'd used; it sounded like _souhkh_. It was a massive clearing in the forest, at the center of which stood the tree. Centaurs- all male, and all armed, stood around with bows drawn.

_Where are the others? _He looked slowly around, fighting the urge to wrap himself in sheets of power. _Why am I the only one here?_

"Greetings, champion." the voice was old and dry, and came from behind a knot of three impressively large centaurs. As he approached they parted, admitting an old gray horse-man. He had hunched shoulders and a long, scraggly beard, and his eyes were dark and tired. "You are the first to reach your goal. This is unfortunate for you."

"Why?" Harry's golden eyes flashed as his anxiety flared. "Are you going to attack me?"

The old centaur laughed; a sound like a deer's antlers rattling. "No, champion, we are neither foolish nor blind. We can see the star that shines in your heart. We mean you and yours no harm. It is unfortunate because I will challenge all who follow to answer a question. A single question, and if they answer- if they _can _answer, I will release their hostage to them."

"And my question is unfortunate?" Harry frowned. "I don't understand."

Old Gray lowered himself to the ground, gesturing for Harry to do the same. Still frowning, he lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs. The old centaur took a long breath. "It is unfortunate because for everyone else, their questions have answers."

He got a sinking feeling in his gut; a premonition of sorts. "And mine doesn't."

Old Gray nodded. "That is what I fear."

Harry swallowed and tried to convince himself of the truth of what he was about to say, "Ask me the question. I am not afraid."

"Very well, brave one. Here is your question." The centaur's dark, tired eyes fixed his and froze him in place. "You have fated eyes, and the star in your heart. But you have wondered at it's purpose."

He had been afraid of this. The one question he'd never been able to answer. The old, well healed wound.

Old Gray asked, "_Why do you have your power_?"

* * *

Harry and Luna left the woods a full ten minutes after the deadline. Funnily enough, he didn't care. He couldn't care less. He held her hand a little bit tighter as they walked towards the tent and the stands. No one had spoken. Not a word had been said.

"What's going on?" Luna was still a little groggy from the enchanted sleep. Harry had offered to heal her of it, but she'd refused, wanting him to save his strength in case they stumbled across any beasties in the woods. He needn't have; their walk back was danger-free.

"I don't know." he replied. He searched out Dumbledore's face and saw such fierce pride that his heart skipped a beat. Hermione's eyes were wide and shining, and she had Neville's arms wrapped around her middle.

He couldn't say what the rest of the school's faces were, because at that moment the strangest thing happened. Madame Maxime, the headmistress of one of his competitors schools, rose to her feet and held her wand in the air.

Two pieces of ribbon shot out; one bent in on itself, the other hanging vertically in the air.

One by one the other judges delivered their final verdicts. He would later find out that even with the score he'd received, the Tournament's officials would deduct ten points for his lateness. He truly did not care. Nothing could touch him now. And it was for the damnedest reason.

It wasn't because of Luna, though he was _very_ aware of her at his side.

It wasn't because he was winning. He wasn't.

It wasn't because he'd triumphed over some monstrous evil.

The plain and simple truth of it was, he was untouchable in this moment because he finally, finally, knew _why_.

And that, nothing could take away from him.

* * *

_END CHAPTER THIRTEEN_

**Note: Some of you may have noticed the increased delay in story updating. Short of it is; I'm back at school, which means I have many, many more demands on my time than I used to. **

**Also, bits of this chapter were a bitch to write. **

**And on that note...**

**GV out. **


	15. Tournaments Aflame, V

**Note: It's amazing that it took fourteen chapters before someone asked me where Ron was. My answer is as follows: he's there. He's at the school, but not part of the story, and therefore I can't be bothered writing him. Imagine him eating large helpings at every meal and being as normal as possible. You know, the way he would have been if he didn't know Harry. **

**...anyway.**

_CHAPTER FOURTEEN, TOURNAMENTS AFLAME, V_

* * *

There was something intensely liberating about the knowledge that in a few month's time this whole nightmare would be behind him. The Gryffindor common room was quiet, almost everyone was out on the grounds enjoying the rarity of a clear, sunny spring day. He hadn't joined them for the simple reason of not wanting to.

He was also a bit tired. The tension of the second task had taken its toll on him. Caught in the rush of adrenaline he'd been nicked and bruised a few times without noticing. The worst of these was a cut on his scalp that still itched. If he were honest with himself, because he'd dealt with worse and the ache was already faded, he was staying in because he was waiting for-

_Tap, tap, tap_.

-that. He looked up to see Hedwig perched on the window. After a moment she rapped on the window again with her beak. He let her in and took the envelope that had been carefully tied to her leg, noting with a sense of disappointment there was only one. She flapped up to his shoulder to butt her her head against his temple.

He smiled. "Thanks, Hedwig. Go get some sleep."

With a hoot of offense- as if the very idea of her needing sleep were ludicrous- she took wing out the still open window and off into the air. Harry closed it behind her and went back to his chair, opening the letter as he did. Inside, folded neatly into thirds, was a sheet of lined paper. It unfolded to reveal Petunia's crisp, neat handwriting.

_Dear Harry, _

_Your father apologizes for not being able to send a letter, but he's on a business trip this week to Nova Scotia and evidently forgot he was going. He sends his love and promised to bring back a frozen piece of his mustache(he won't. Probably.). What else to report? I'm doing fine. I miss you terribly, of course, but I'm fine. _

_Dudley decided to try out for the school's rugby team. By the time you get this, he'll have learned whether or not he made the team. Wish him luck! I tried to get him to go out for football or cricket, which he still hasn't forgiven me for. _

_Oh, I've just remembered. I got a letter from Professor Dumbledore last night and he told me that the families of the champions are allowed to visit before the final task. Even people...well, people like us. Isn't that great? We'll be there to cheer you on! _

_On that note I just want to say how very proud of you I am for doing this. I know you and your father talked about winning, but I'll be happy when it's over and you aren't in danger anymore. One more thing to go. You're almost done, sweetie. And if you get stressed about it, go find that girlfriend of yours. Give her a kiss. And tell her I said hello, and thank you for the letter. _

_See you soon!_

_Mum._

Harry folded the letter and stuck it in his back pocket. Luna had talked to his mum? How did she even know where to find her? He felt a distinct sense of impending doom as he recalled every single embarrassing thing Petunia could tell her about him. The time when he was three and vanished all his clothes while playing in the park came to mind.

He stood abruptly. He needed to find Luna and do damage control. He left the common room a man on a mission, firmly aware that in the back of his mind that wasn't the _only _reason he went looking for her.

* * *

He found her on the fifth floor having an animated argument with the portrait of an astronomer. They were discussing constellations, or something, he didn't pay attention to that. Instead he spun her around, pushed her up against the wall and kissed her hard. Luna squeaked in surprise before smiling against his lips and snaking her arms around his neck. He ignored the portrait's indignant huff and let his hands burrow into her robes and slide across the smooth cotton of her shirt.

After a long moment they broke apart. He grinned down at her and her own smile was lazy and guileless. She looked at him through half-lidded eyes and said, "What was that for?"

Harry huffed a breathless laugh and bumped his forehead into hers. "I can't kiss my girlfriend for no reason?"

"Not like that, you can't." the astronomer cut in. He scowled at it.

"Oh, bog off, you."

"Harry!" Luna flicked his ear. "Be nice." she wiggled in his grasp until she faced the portrait. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "he gets grumpy if he hasn't seen me in a while."

The astronomer nodded. "I see. Young love, is it? Well, far be it from me to interfere with that." the painted man stood, collected his belongings, and left the frame, muttering about visiting "that idiotic astrologer on the second floor, he's always good for an argument."

Harry frowned at the now empty portrait before muttering, "Mood killer."

Luna kissed him again, far more intense than any he'd received from her before. He came up with even wilder hair, glassy eyes, and red, puffy lips. "You were saying?" she panted, not looking much better.

He blinked a few times and shook his head. "I can't remember."

Her smile was slow and happy. Suddenly he found himself up against the wall and her hands were sneaking beneath his shirt to dance up his stomach. "Good," she purred. "I can think of better things to do than complain."

Harry drew her back to him, lowering his lips to hers. "Show me." he whispered against them.

She did.

* * *

By the time he wandered back to the common room everyone else had dragged themselves in from what had turned into the worst rainstorm in the history of the earth. Well, that was the image he was getting, at least. Hermione's boundlessly curly hair had tamed remarkably over the past three years, but still held some of its original wildness. The sight of it completely plastered to her head was enough to convince him that maybe Neville's claims of nearly drowning weren't too badly exaggerated.

"I'm serious!" the boy in question squeezed water from his sock before tossing it onto the stone floor in front of the fire. "If it weren't for Hermione, I'd have drowned!"

Harry's brows rose. "Really?" he turned to the girl. "What'd you do?"

"N-nothing much," she said, giving a _very _false laugh before turning away. He saw the backs of her ears turn very red. "just a drying charm."

He was going to say something along the lines of, 'oh, is _that _what they're calling it nowadays' when Neville frowned at his hair and said, "Mate, why does it look like your hair got attacked by angry squirrels?"

"No reason!" Harry sad quickly. A little _too _quickly, as it turned out. Hermione turned back to them, all traces of a blush gone, and scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. Then they widened.

"_You didn't._" she hissed.

"I didn't!"

"Did what?" Neville asked, looking between them, thoroughly confused.

"You're not ready!" Hermione continued.

"_We're not-_? Wait, what do you think we did?" Harry asked, now as bewildered as Neville.

"You know..." She trailed off and he shook his head. She mouthed the word '_sex_'.

Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head slowly from side to side. She was wrong. But he couldn't let her know that she wasn't far from wrong. "Really? I'm _fourteen_. She's _thirteen_. That's like, the _definition_ of a bad idea!"

He was glad she dropped it there, too embarrassed to continue. He didn't fancy the interrogation he'd have to sit through before she just gave up and made her own decision, because there was _no way in hell_ he was saying anything about what went on between him and Luna. What they did was theirs and theirs alone.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized. He smiled at her.

"It's okay. I don't know why you thought that, but it's okay."

At this point Neville finally found his voice.

"What _are _you two going on about?!" He demanded. Harry chuckled and pointed at the soggy brunette.

"You tell him." he said.

Hermione's reply was simple, concise, and clear.

"No."

* * *

Four weeks before the final task was to occur Harry and the other champions were summoned to what was the Quidditch Pitch and was now the estuary for the lake. It turned out that the giant squid was both female and pregnant, so as a result there was a small, baby giant squid in the estuary.

Well, 'small' being a relative term.

Harry watched it frolic- as much as a squid _can _frolic- in the shallow waters while he waited for the other champions to rock up. He stood on the rocky shore, little waves lapping against his ankles. Behind him, Ludo and Dumbledore were conversing in low tones in an attempt to avoid to eavesdropping. Their conversation was a low murmur, punctuated now and again by the loud whack of the baby squid's ten foot tentacles slapping the water's surface.

"Mr. Potter?"

He turned. At some point, the other three champions had arrived and were all standing around looking curious as to why they were out by the estuary at nine in the evening. Ludo, the man who had called him, waved him over. He stepped out of the shallows, dried his shoes and pants with a thought and brief flare of light in his eyes, and trotted over.

The other champions gave him brief greetings before turning their attention back to Ludo, who was as cheery looking as ever. "Great!" the fat man said, grinning widely. "Now that we're all here, we can begin."

_He says that a lot_, Harry thought, while Ludo continued.

"As you are no doubt by this point aware, these tasks are designed to test you; in the first, we tested your strength, in the second, your wisdom. This task will be the greatest test of all; your will. Everything you have faced so far has been in preparation for this one last event. As we speak the finest Transfigurers, Conjurers, and Creature Handlers are cooperating to create a task that will prove, once and for all, who among you is most deserving of the title; Triwizard Champion!"

Here Ludo stopped and peered at the four of them, as if reassuring himself they were paying attention. He needn't have bothered, Harry was pretty sure he had their attention from the beginning. "Any questions?" Ludo asked.

Miss Delacour raised her hand and spoke in that magnificently throaty voice of hers, "What is the nature of the task?"

"Ah." Ludo grinned. "Ah ah ah, Miss Delacour. _That _would be telling. Suffice it to say that it will be unforgettable."

Harry ran his tongue along his teeth and thought. Did he have any questions? Well, just one, really. "What are we looking for?"

The fat man blinked. "Looking for?"

"Yeah." suddenly he felt six pairs of eyes on him and found he didn't like the feeling. "Well, in the first we had to find the tablet. In the second, we had to find...someone. What are we looking for in this one?"

Ludo's eyes lit with understanding and, if it were possible, even _more _glee. "That's the thing, Mr. Potter, there isn't anything! The winner of this task will be the one who reaches the end. Now if there's nothing else I've kept you out past curfew, so..." he waved his hands at them in a shooing motion. "off you go! Sleep well!"

Harry left with the others, shaking his head. _Sleep well? Seriously? _How on earth could he expect them to sleep well- or at all, really- after dropping a bombshell that big on their laps? Was the man deranged? After a quick trawl through his memories of all of Ludo's appearances at Hogwarts, he concluded that yes, the fat happy man was probably quite mad.

"Don't you know, we're all mad here?" He muttered, then sighed.

_So I've got a month to get ready for something that will test my willpower. And probably try to kill me, because that's been the trend so far. It's nice, really, having something to look forward to._

* * *

The morning of the third task, Harry was too excited to eat. He skipped breakfast and went to the library, hoping to get some last minute study in, only to stop just inside the entrance. It was full. Absolutely, jammed to the walls, full. The reason for which was vibrating in poorly concealed annoyance at a table near the back. Harry smiled and left Viktor Krum to his misery.

The owlrey, on the other hand, was free of giggling girls. It was full of owls, though. He took up his usual perch- heh- and settled in to watch the people stream in the front gates. The soft rustle of feathers and sleepy hoots did wonders to soothe his jangled nerves. As the minutes passed his shoulders relaxed and his fingers stopped drumming on his knees.

All through the last week people had been arriving in a steady stream. Today that stream became a flood. Not for the first time he scanned the school's surroundings, wondering just where all these people were going to go. If he could figure that out, he could get at least a partial glimpse of what exactly this mystery task was going to be. It was pointless, though. A large tent had been set up next to the estuary, not far from where the meeting with Ludo had taken place. That was where everyone was going.

If he was going to cheat, he would have to work harder than that.

"Harry?"

Hermione had snuck up on him when he wasn't paying attention. She looked worried and doing her best to hide it. The smile she gave him was lukewarm at best. It was curious, the way he felt about that. It was nice knowing she cared, but he felt like a tool for making her worry. "Hey."

"I thought I'd find you up here." she joined him at the window and looked out. He shrugged.

"I like it."

Her smile turned genuine for a moment. "I can see why. It's beautiful."

"Yeah." he half-smiled. "You look worried."

Hermione was quiet for a long minute. Overhead a couple of owls decided to swap perches and the resulting hustle and bustle and ruffled feathers made talking more of a chore than it was worth. Harry watched one of his best friends gather her thoughts and waited for whatever was troubling her to come out.

"I _am _worried." she still wasn't looking at him. "I've been worried since your name came out, and- and I guess I can't hide it anymore."

"I'm a tough guy," Harry tried to reassure her. "this isn't the worst thing I've dealt with, you know that."

She turned to look at him and he saw all of the things he'd been thinking about late at night in them. "Yes, but this... it feels different, like- like more's at stake." breath left her nose in an annoyed huff. "I don't know, it's just something's wrong and I'm worried about you."

He took her shoulders and tried his best to look like she hadn't just confirmed every worry he had. "I'm going to be fine. There's no way whoever did this knew what I was capable of. I agree with you, don't think I don't, but... there's no way whoever set this up had the whole story, and that's...kind of reassuring."

Hermione shook her head. "That's not reassuring at all." He smiled humorlessly.

"No, not really. But it's what I got."

Suddenly he was in a patented Hermione style hug; the sort which threatened all of his ribs equally. He got a face full of curly hair as he returned the hug with equal strength and felt her whisper into his shoulder.

"Be careful, Harry."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and murmured, "Always."

* * *

Noon rolled around and he found himself in the same side chamber that the champions had gone into after they were selected. If he had been chosen normally, that is. Circumstance made it that this was the first time he was seeing the little room, and he looked with open curiosity. A brazier crackled and spat merrily in the center, lighting the room with a warm glow. Tapestries of the school's four houses hung on the walls, and comfortable, squishy furniture dotted the carpeted floors.

That was all he saw before Petunia yelled his name and engulfed him in a hug. She wasn't as bad as Hermione, he could still breathe, but he'd bet on having arm shaped bruises on his ribs afterward. He also noted as he returned her hug that he was taller than his mum for the first time in his life. Vernon and Dudley were still taller, though as they approached he could see it wasn't by much.

"Good grief, you've gotten big!" Petunia exclaimed, drawing back and smiling brightly at him. "What have you been eating?"

"If he's anything like Dudley," Vernon said, joining them. "it's more a question of what_ hasn't _he been eating."

"Thanks, dad." Dudley glowered, punching Harry's arm in a brotherly show of affection, which he gleefully returned. Vernon grinned at his son.

"Anytime! So, Harry, how's about you show us around this school of yours? I've only ever seen the hospital, so we can skip that."

"Agreed." Petunia said fervently. Dudley looked at him curiously.

"Harry," he said, "where's your hair going?"

Harry laughed and rubbed his increasingly bald head, glad despite- or because of- their teasing to see his family again. "Come on," he said, "I'll give you the Hogwarts Grand Tour!"

* * *

The Hogwarts Grand Tour was a smashing success, if Harry did say so. His family was duly impressed- and more than a little annoyed- with all of the magical oddities and quirks the castle had acquired over a thousand years of being steeped in magic. Petunia tried and failed to open a wall pretending to be a door, Vernon almost dueled a belligerent suit of armor to the death, and Dudley got caught on a particularly indecisive moving staircase for the better part of an hour.

Okay, so success _might _be pushing it. If only a little.

"Harry," Dudley panted after he'd been 'rescued' from the evil stairs. "don't take this the wrong way, or anything, but your school? Mad!"

Harry slung a companionable arm around his brother's shoulders and steered his family towards the Charms classroom. "Dudley," his words held the long-suffering experience of four years at Hogwarts. "you have no idea."

Behind them, their parents shared a look, and nodded. They followed their sons as Harry told an increasingly wide-eyed Dudley about the...tamer adventures he'd gotten up to. With only minor embellishments, of course.

He also made a great effort to keep them _away _from Ravenclaw tower. As much as he loved his family, and as much as he...liked Luna, there wasn't a snowball's chance he was letting them meet before he was good and ready. Unfortunately, he forgot his luck was crap, so they ran into her- somewhat literally, outside the Charms classroom.

"Oh, me head." Dudley groaned, rubbing his forehead. Harry had gone to Luna and helped her to her feet. She had a nice bruise forming on her forehead from where she'd accidentally been headbutted by his brother and some swelling on her wrist from where she'd landed on it. He slid his fingertips over the darkening skin and watched them fade in their wake.

"Dudley," Harry successfully fought down the urge to snap at his brother for hurting Luna, intentional or not. "do you ever look where you're going, or is it just here you bounce off people?"

Maybe not so successful. Luna touched his arm with her newly healed hand. "Be nice," she scolded. "it wasn't like he did it on purpose. Unless," she narrowed her eyes at Dudley, who gulped a little. "he _did _do it on purpose. Did you?"

"No." Dudley replied, still touching the spreading bruise. "Sorry. Uh, Harry, do you think you could...?" he looked at the absent bruise on Luna's pale skin and gestured to his forehead.

"Maybe." Harry drawled. Luna poked him. "Oh, fine. Here," he put his palm on the bruise and his eyes flared briefly. When he drew it away, the bruise was gone. "better?"

Dudley probed the area with a cautious finger before grinning widely. "Much! Thanks, Harry. So, Luna, what made you want to date my brother? I mean, he is a world class git."

Luna smiled and burrowed into Harry's side. He wrapped his free hand around her waist. "Maybe," she said, drawing an affronted look from Harry. "but he's _my _git. And he saved my life."

Petunia and Vernon, who had until then been in the Charms classroom, came out just in time to hear this last piece, said together, "What?"

Harry sighed. "I really, _really_, don't want to tell this story."

"It's okay," Luna said, eyes full of understanding and something...warmer. "I tell it better anyway."

* * *

Harry was almost glad when the champions were collected for the final task to begin. Petunia had been telling a rapt Luna every story about him that he himself would have gladly burned from everyone's memory that she could think of. The glimmer in his girlfriend's eyes promised much teasing for him later.

Assuming, that was, he survived.

The nervous energy that had permeated the air whenever the champions gathered before a task had diminished, and instead an easy sort of confidence filled their tent. Fleur Delacour was chatting with Viktor Krum in French and Cedric was spinning his wand idly on his upraised palm. In comparison to the first task, they were relaxed, calm, and eager. In their minds they knew that each of them had a chance- a _good _chance- at winning this tournament. They had done all they could, and the only thing left was the task itself.

That didn't stop Harry from indulging in his version of a nervous habit; conjuring streamers of light and weaving them in patterns above his hands. The glow from the amber bands and emitting faintly from his runes lit his corner of the tent bright than the sconce he sat under.

It was into this scene that the round ball of happy energy that was Ludo Something Or Other- what was his last name, anyways?- bounced. "Good evening, champions!" he exclaimed. "I suppose you're all wondering what it is you're doing here today! Well, I can tell you, the mystery is about to be revealed!" he gestured to the tent's entrance in a melodramatic fashion. It swung open and in was wheeled a covered trolley with something vaguely conical under the sheet. Ludo whipped the sheet off and Harry cursed under his breath.

"That's right, gentlemen and lady, your final task- this last obstacle, is known to the goblins as _Tor Nokrag_- the White Fang. You may know it by it's more common name-"

"Braeriach." Cedric rolled the name off his tongue. "Mount Braeriach."

"Precisely." Ludo's eyes were wide and shining with excitement. "Precisely. At the summit of this mountain the Triwizard Cup has been placed. The winner is the one who retrieves it. Now," he produced a simple iron rod from...somewhere and brandished it. "this is a portkey that will take you to the starting point. From there, you are on your own. Should you feel yourself incapable of continuing, send out a flare from your wand and the observers will pick you up. Are you all ready?"

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. He was the first to place his hand on the rod, but was followed quickly by Cedric, Viktor, and Fleur. His heart pounded and his palm slicked. This was it. He stared at the simple iron in his hand and barely heard Ludo's voice.

"The portkey will activate in three, two- good luck, champions- one, _now_!"

With a wrench, the four of them disappeared from the tent.

* * *

_That did not feel great._

Harry groaned and spat out a mouthful of leaves. Sitting up told him that he in no way enjoyed traveling by portkey. His ribs ached, his ankle twinged, and his forearms were spotted with bruises. A quick look around showed none of his fellow champions around him, nor could he hear them moaning and groaning after their less than gentle ride.

So, he was alone. Putting as much weight on his ankle as he dared, he limped over to a nearby fallen log and sat. It was actually quite beautiful here, where he'd been dropped. If not for the Tournament, he might actually enjoy being here. The sky was clear and the sun bright, a rarity in Scotland. The ground gave pleasantly under his feet and a breeze brought a warning of rain. He took a deep breath, eased his various aches and pains in a flash of amber, and oriented himself.

He wasn't at the bottom- that much was clear. He could see it; the stands the people, more like ants from this distance. Nor was he at the top. That he couldn't see, there was probably a good mile and a half for him to climb, and he was damn sure that the organizers- damn them forever- hadn't made this easy. So the only question was:

What did they do?

* * *

Harry's question was answered ten minutes later when a spider the size of a small lorry tried to run him over. He yelped and jumped out of the way, doing an awkward somersault into a gorse brush. By the time he'd freed himself, the spider had re-oriented on him a few yards away and he got a good, long look at what wanted to(presumably) eat him.

It stood eight feet, the hump of its abdomen standing at eight and a half feet. A half dozen beetle black, fragmented eyes glinted at him in the afternoon sun. Its six legs dimpled the soft ground and it hissed at him. He took all this in- _and_ its fangs as long as his legs- and had only one thought;

_I _really _don't want to be here_.

Then it charged forward. So did he, throwing himself underneath the beast and punching up with an open palm. His eyes flared and a rush of power flipped the spider end over end to crash onto the ground, belly dented and facing the sky. Harry stood, hissing at the lines of pain running down his back, clenched his fists together, and lifted them. Power thrummed around his gathered hands as he brought them down.

The spider's carapace snapped loudly and repeatedly, crumpling in on itself in quick succession. By the time Harry released the power the once massive beast was now only a gory smear on the mountainside. The glow left his eyes and he re-oriented himself. There was still no sign of any of his competitors. He wondered if they were having better luck than he was.

_Or, _he thought as he started trudging up the mountain once more, _maybe- just maybe- they're doing worse. _

The notion cheered him somewhat. Which was nice, because it was starting to rain. He mentioned he didn't want to be here, right?

* * *

The rain had reached a level some might call torrential. He had reached a pile of rocks that were shaped a bit like a serving of mashed potatoes and he could barely see the highest stone through the rain, even though it stood only a few feet above his head. His hair would have been plastered to his skull if he had enough of it left. As it was, each drop sent chills across his scalp. Then he heard something that sent chills down the rest of him.

"_Crucio_!"

The curse was shouted in a hoarse, throaty voice that Harry recognized instantly. The scream he didn't recognize, but the feminine throat it tore itself from left him no doubts that Fleur Delacour was being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. His throat tightened and he crept forward, thanking God every step for the rain that covered his approach.

"...I- I don't...know..." Fleur rasped. Lestrange laughed, broken sanity clear in every sound. There was a sound like wet paper ripping, and the French girl cried out.

"Now why don't I believe you?" Lestrange said, malevolent glee staining every word. "I don't know. What do you think, Bella? Me? I think I should kill her and wear her hair as a sash. Oh, I like that idea! Me too! Right, shall we kill her slowly? _Yes_, slowly. Make her feel every second of it."

"No." Fleur rasped. "Don't...don't do this."

"Why shouldn't I?" Lestrange asked. "You're not going to stop me. Look at you, you're a mongrel. A- a wretch. The filthy product of interbreeding with _beasts_. I'm doing the world a service, really by-"

She would have continued, Harry was sure of it, had he not stepped around into the clearing and slammed his palms together, eyes burning with fury and a coiling thunderhead of power around his body. The demented witch had only a moment before twin hammers of golden force turned her into a fleshy lump of pulverized bone on the wet, mossy ground.

Bellatrix Lestrange took five minutes to die. He watched her, huddled with Fleur under a shield against the rain. She gasped out her last, lungs slowly crushed under her own weight. After that last strangled breath, the mad light left her eyes and she died.

"You..saved me." Fleur's eyes were unfocused, her fingers twitching from nerve damage due to long term exposure to the Cruciatus. He healed what he could, taking the most of her pain and soothing the raging fire left behind by the curse.

"Of course I did."

"But...why?"

Harry blinked water out of his eyes and sealed the wound on her abdomen closed. "Because it's the right thing to do. How do you feel now?"

Fleur swallowed. "I-better, thank you." she snapped her eyes to his, suddenly panicked. "The others! She said there were more, hunting you! We have to find Cedric and Viktor and warn them!" she tried to rise and whimpered at the motion. Harry helped her lie back down.

"No," he told her, "you're going to stay here and curse everyone you see who isn't me or Cedric or Krum. Did she say how many were with her?"

Fleur shook her head, pain and fatigue warring their way across her face. "No. Be careful, Harry."

His reassuring smile was more like a grimace. He changed the shield around them to protect from everything, not just rainwater, and stood. He left the shield and went into the rain to find his fellow champions and hunt down the people who had come there to kill them. He was surprised to feel only a modicum of fear. Three years of fighting and defending himself rose in his subconscious mind.

The past three years had been practice. This was the real thing. Harry shunted power to his legs and jumped, landing in a skid of muddy water and torn up peat thirty feet away. He tuned his sense, using the magic running through him to sharpen his sight and hearing- something he'd never done before. He jumped again, this time straight up, and caught sight of flashing lights and heard shouted spells. When he landed he launched himself forward, heading towards the battle.

This was the real thing, and he was ready.

* * *

His arrival was unnoticed until he landed in the midst of four of them and blasted them off the mountainside with a shockwave of force. He rose from his knees, amber lightning arcing through the air around him and he lashed out with his fists, sweeping two more into the ground with bone breaking force and buying Cedric and Viktor some breathing room, which they took advantage of with vicious force.

Harry slid to a halt between them, and together they formed a triangle, each facing outwards against the dozen circling remnants of their attackers.

"Glad you could make it, Potter." Viktor rasped.

"You kidding? I wouldn't miss this for the world." he replied.

"Chaps," Cedric said, eying their opponents warily. "Not that I'm not enjoying your witty banter, but we do have a dozen lunatics in black robes trying to kill us. Can we focus, please?"

And as if that were the signal, the battle was rejoined. Cedric ducked under a curse that Harry rebounded back at the sender, while Viktor spun on his heel and vanished, reappearing behind a quartet of masked figures and dispatching them with cutting curses to the spine before going down to a blasting curse. Harry gestured and brought the wounded Bulgarian to his side. The wound was large and bleeding profusely, but healed easily enough. He held one hand over the hole and used the other to snap the neck of the man responsible for it. Thirty seconds had passed, and six of their attackers were dead.

Two of them noticed this and disapparated. "There are only four left." Viktor groaned, rising to his feet, supported heavily by Cedric. Harry snorted without humor, feeling a cut on his cheek that he hadn't noticed before. He touched his cheek and wasn't really surprised when nothing but rainwater showed on his fingertips.

"Yep." he grunted, and took a deep breath, letting out slowly to calm his racing heart. The four remaining circled, neither attacking nor retreating. Their white masks gleamed in the murky light and made it impossible for him to see if they were at the attack on Hogsmeade last year. They didn't taunt him like that bunch had, so he doubted it. He snorted again, full of bitter humor.

Only he would be in this situation. And, as he was starting to see, only he could get everyone out of it alive.

"Okay," he said, "here's the plan. About five hundred yards back that way," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I left Fleur under a shield. She's hurt. You guys are going to go get her and get down to the bottom. Get help. I don't know if these guys brought friends, or what, so run like your lives depend on it. Mine does."

"Harry..."Cedric's face betrayed his reluctance, his worry, and his fear. "are you-"

"Of course I'm not sure," Harry said tiredly. "but this is your best shot. When I say go, okay?"

"We'll be back as soon as we can," Viktor's voice was tightened by pain, but his eyes were clear. "so stay alive, Potter."

"No promises," Harry said, eying their four opponents, who looked as if they were about to attack again. He beat them to the punch by rupturing the ground beneath their feet. "Go!" he didn't look back but jumped forward, landing in the midst of them as they regained their feet. Funneling power into his fists he punched them into bruised, battered unconsciousness.

_That went better than I expected_.

Harry peered into the rain, trying to see...much of anything, really. The rain and rising mist from the ground made it impossible to see more than ten yards in any direction. On top of that he had no idea why mist was rising in the first place. Then a crack of thunder almost blew out his eardrums and lightning- brighter and closer than he'd ever seen- sheared into the mountaintop above him.

The debris rained down around him, rock glowing red hot, hissing and spitting as the rain hit it. The mist continued to rise, pooling around his knees, and he reached the summit in a series of leaps that left him panting and breathless.

What used to be the summit was now cracked by the lightning strike. In the crevasse left behind sat the gleaming silver cup. Harry stared at it for a minute, having forgotten why they were all on this mountain in the first place. Then there were a series of pops, so soft that at first he thought he was hearing things. He thought that until a pair of curses smashed into his ribs and sent him flying into the still rather hot crevasse.

Bleary eyed and bleeding from a cut on his head, Harry looked up to see a dozen more figures surrounding him. Their wands were leveled at him, their masks running with rain. All he could hear was the rain and the wind and the harsh panting of his breath. Then he heard something far, far worse; a voice that had once haunted his nightmares.

"Harry Potter," the voice said, "we meet in person at last. I've been so looking forward to this moment."

The masked figures parted to reveal a tall, black robed man with noble features and dark hair. If Harry had passed him on the street, the only that would stand out to him would be the man's height. Then he met his gleaming red eyes, and knew.

Lord Voldemort reborn stood over him and said, in a voice like burnt silk, "Welcome to your death, Harry."

* * *

_END CHAPTER FOURTEEN_

**Note: this chapter ends my loose association with canon. After this point we venture entirely into the mire of my own mind. Tremble, mortals, and despair. **

**I'm kidding. **

**Mostly. **

**GV out. **


End file.
